


Choose to Love

by Raine_Wynd



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Clan Denial, Cussing, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sex, Falling In Love, Friendship, Light Angst, Loyalty, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Watchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-12-25 16:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18264773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: Richie’s been living a quiet, settled, and mostly peaceful life. When Cory crashes through it, what will it take for him to convince Richie he’s exactly the guy he needs in his life?





	1. Chapter 1

_Seacouver, February 23, 2019_

Relaxed and feeling comfortable from the last echoes of the liquor he’d been drinking, Richie bid goodbye to his friend, Thomas Porterfield, as they stepped out of the nightclub. Techno spilled out of the doorway of the nightclub as the two men stepped out onto the sidewalk, mindful to step out of the way of the bouncer manning the door. They were a striking pair, both shy of six feet in height, both of medium athletic builds, both projecting casual confidence.

“Hey, thanks for joining me tonight, Richie,” Thomas said. Sweat stained the blue oxford shirt and gray chinos he’d worn, but Thomas rarely wore a t-shirt and jeans out clubbing. He refused to be mistaken for anyone less than the successful black man he was. “Didn’t want to celebrate my promotion alone.” He hugged Richie briefly, careful not to dislodge his fedora.

Richie grinned as he looked at his friend. Not for the first time, he thought someone had chiseled Thomas’s oval face; it was all angles, from his deep-set eyes to his high cheekbones to his prominent nose to his full lips. “Anytime. Want your jackets?”

Thomas nodded. “Please.”

Richie pulled the items out of the backpack he carried and handed it to him.

“Figured you were going to pick up that blond twink at the end of the bar. What happened?” Thomas pulled on a gray fleece jacket and layered it under a black leather jacket.

Richie shook his head and zipped up his backpack, slinging over his left shoulder. “Nah, wasn’t in the mood. Thought you were going for that guy with the mesh shirt?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “He wanted a bathroom fuck with no protection, like it’s 1970 and nobody knows about HIV. Hey, I’ve an idea. Why don’t we date?” He tipped the fedora he wore rakishly and looked at Richie flirtatiously.

Richie laughed. He had known Thomas for a decade now, having met through a fundraiser for homeless youth. “We tried that, remember? We kissed, zero spark. Besides, I like you more as a friend.”

Thomas made a moue of distaste at the reminder, then broke into a grin. “Oh, yeah, there’s that.” He patted Richie’s left shoulder twice, the sound echoing due to the Kevlar-reinforced leather of Richie’s motorcycle jacket. “You’re a good man, Richie. I’m glad to call you my best friend. Tell Angie I said hi when you see her tomorrow. Be careful getting home.”

“You too, man.”

Stepping away, Richie made his way to where he parked his motorcycle. Richie’s helmet was in the backpack he carried; the backpack also held a spare change of clothing, if he had to fight someone or had found someone for an evening’s pleasure. The frost in the early morning air made him grateful he’d opted to keep the insulating liner in his jacket. He debated whether he wanted to add the down jacket he kept in the backpack, then realized he didn’t want to expend the effort. His sword lay in a hidden crossbody sheath sewn into the inside of the motorcycle jacket, rigged so he could draw it easily with his right hand without damaging the jacket or the liner. Not expecting trouble, he’d parked his motorcycle in the parking garage two blocks up from the club.

He jogged up the stairs of the garage, mind focused on getting home and going to bed. Though he had found people to flirt with, no one had interested him enough to follow them home. The garage had designated motorcycle parking on the third floor. He’d just pulled his helmet out of his backpack when the unmistakable sense of another immortal washed through him, followed by a loud thumping. For a moment, he hesitated, looking for where the signal was coming from. Abruptly, he realized it was from one of the nearby cars, which was bouncing as whoever was inside it tried to get his attention.

He set his backpack down on the ground next to his motorcycle. The car was a classic old brown sedan, made long before the safety rules about exiting out of a trunk were in place. Richie had never gotten out of the habit of keeping a lock pick and a folding pocketknife in his jacket, especially after once too often being kidnapped and held hostage as collateral for Duncan MacLeod. He made quick work out of unlocking the trunk and lifted the lid.

Though it had been over two decades, Richie recognized the light brown-haired, broad-shouldered man who lay bound in the trunk. Duct tape covered his mouth, and his hazel eyes pleaded with Richie to help him get out of the predicament. Blood and dirt stained his jeans; his shirt held the evidence of a fatal gunshot wound. His legs were duct-taped at the ankles and his feet were barefoot. Richie hesitated, remembering how he had heard for years that Cory had stayed true to his robbing and pranking ways.

“Let me guess: whatever you did to get here is at least 10%, if not more, your fault. When I take the tape off, you’d better give me a good reason why I shouldn’t just leave you where you are, Cory,” Richie warned, and ripped off the tape.

“Because I would really like to get out of this trunk before Marnie’s goons come back to kill me again?” Cory said quickly. “I really didn’t think she would do this.”

“Do you ever think that?” Richie asked dryly. “Women are vicious. What did you do, cheat on her?”

Cory winced at the accuracy of Richie’s guess. “I maybe was seen flirting with someone prettier, and maybe I got closer than I should have?”

Sighing, Richie lifted him out of the trunk, setting him down gently on the parking garage floor so he could better deal with the tape on Cory’s ankles. Once Richie had cut through the tape on Cory’s ankles, Cory sat up so Richie could reach his wrists, which had been bound behind his back with even more duct tape. A quick search of the trunk turned up a pair of cowboy boots, which Cory claimed as his with visible relief. Richie tossed pieces of duct tape into the trunk before shutting it.

Cory stood, groaning as blood rushed to parts of his body, and immortal healing kicked in. “Thanks, Richie. Don’t suppose you have a t-shirt I could borrow?”

In reply, Richie dug into his backpack and tossed him the spare long-sleeve t-shirt and the down jacket he kept there. Cory took both gratefully. The t-shirt was tight on Cory, and he couldn’t zip up the jacket. Richie noted how both items outlined Cory’s muscular chest and told himself he was bi, of course he’d notice how attractive another man was. It meant nothing, and besides, there were more important things to discuss.

“Is whoever put you there coming back for you?”

“They were supposed to drive me to the port in the morning and put the car on a barge with a bunch of other vehicles for export. They thought I was dead, so getting rid of the evidence with the car made sense to them. Where am I, by the way?”

“Downtown Seacouver. Where were you?”

“Bellingham. That means I’m fucked.”

Richie hesitated again. Innate compassion, however, and the memory of having been in a comparable situation made him ask, “Do you need a place to stay?”

“Just to shower and sleep. I don’t have any cash; they took my wallet, my phone, my laptop, and my knives.” Cory looked at him. “Please, Richie. I swear I’ll be out of your hair once I get my bearings.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Richie warned him.

Cory laid his hands out, as if to show he hadn’t crossed his fingers. “I won’t, I swear.” He shivered in the cold air. “Just promise me you don’t live far. Weather like this, I’ll freeze sitting pillion behind you, especially since I can’t zip up this jacket.”

“Sorry, but I’m not going to hotwire a car just for your comfort. You’re welcome to do so.” Richie’s tone was harsh. “Not like I have reason to keep you here.”

Cory winced at that. “True.” He took a deep breath. “But I’m in no shape to drive, either. Getting killed and bounced around in a trunk while I revived was not fun. Ow. My sense of direction is wonky right now. I need sleep if I’m going to get anywhere.” He took another breath. “It’s not the first time I’ve frozen my ass.”

* * *

Much to Cory’s relief, they took only fifteen minutes to get from downtown to the eastside neighborhood where Richie lived. The narrow, one-story, two-bedroom, two-bathroom house was a unicorn in a neighborhood full of larger homes. An alley ran behind the block of homes; from the width of the lot, Cory suspected the backyard was the real estate equivalent of a postage stamp. Putting his motorcycle in neutral, Richie pulled out a garage opener from an inside pocket of his jacket and opened the garage; the overhead light in the garage turned on automatically. Cory waited until Richie had pulled inside and shut off the engine before he dismounted, shivering as his body realized it was out of the early morning chill. The garage looked like it would fit, at most, a subcompact car. Shelving and hooks made the most of the storage space, and revealed that Richie owned a rake, an electric weed trimmer, a shovel, a large tool chest, and assorted supplies associated with motorcycle repair and maintenance.

The garage connected with the rear of the house. Richie reset the security alarm before letting Cory precede him through the house. Cory caught sight of the pantry/laundry on his right as they entered, the kitchen on his left, and realized they were entering through what constituted the back hallway/mudroom. He saw the open floor plan living and dining room before Richie nudged him to look at what was on his right: a bathroom and, farther in, the door to a bedroom that held a futon and a two-drawer nightstand.

“Should be towels and soap in the bathroom,” Richie told him. “I’ll get you a pair of sweatpants.”

“Thanks, Richie,” Cory said sincerely.

“One more thing,” Richie warned, “if you’re thinking about trying to sneak out of here without saying goodbye, please don’t.” He took a deep breath. “I know what it’s like to get tied up, shot, and abandoned. I’d like to make sure you don’t leave here without at least breakfast, clothes, and a weapon so you’re not defenseless.”

Surprised, Cory studied him, seeing a much more grounded man than he remembered. “Does that mean I’m forgiven for what I did to you twenty years ago?”

“No. You were an asshole and blaming Amanda for not telling either of us the truth then doesn’t excuse your actions.”

Cory stared at him, dread forming in his stomach.

“It just means I quit holding grudges somewhere around the third time someone wanted my head for shit I did years ago. Seems like a waste of energy.” He patted Cory’s shoulder. “That said, I shouldn’t have let Mac rile me up into using that much explosive. We could’ve killed you. For that, I’m sorry.”

Cory’s breath whooshed out of him. “I’m sorry, too, Richie. Amanda didn’t tell me until afterwards you were a friend, not an annoyance she wanted to be rid of.”

Richie nodded, accepting the apology. “Clean slate?” He offered a hand to shake.

Cory shook hands. “Thanks, Richie.” He paused. “This is a nice house. Is it yours?”

“Yes.” Richie didn’t elaborate. “Let me get you those sweatpants and a bigger t-shirt. While you’re showering, I’ll set up the futon.”

Taking the hint, Cory stepped into the bathroom. Richie returned with the promised clothing; Cory shut the door and stripped out of what he was wearing. Both the sweatpants and t-shirt were larger than Cory expected, given how much narrower-framed Richie was than Cory. It made Cory wonder if they were left over from Duncan or some other friend. Still, Cory was grateful that whoever had owned them before was not shorter than Richie; it meant the pants were long enough, since Cory was a few inches taller than Richie.

Cory luxuriated in being clean and warm, but kept his shower time short, certain the sound would echo through such a small house. He didn’t bother putting on his underwear again, unwilling to wear it a second time without washing it first.

When Cory stepped out of the bathroom, he saw that the lights in the rest of the house were off, the door to the master bedroom was closed, and that Richie had made the futon into a bed complete with a heavy comforter and a pair of pillows. From the sound of it, the furnace was running, but it would take time to heat the house. Cory was old enough to remember when the only heat in a room was from a fire; he appreciated what he had.

Cory took his dirty clothing into the guest bedroom, dumping it all in a pile by the bed, and shut the door. Naked, he stretched, relishing he could, before slipping under the covers. He’d wear the sweatpants and ask his questions when he woke; they would keep until then.

Six hours later, awakened by the mental klaxon of another immortal approaching, Cory sat up.

“Sorry to wake you, Cory, but if you’re interested in breakfast, I’m cooking it now,” Richie said through the closed door.

Cory rose and put on the borrowed sweatpants and t-shirt before opening the door. He found Richie in the kitchen, mixing a batter.

“I haven’t gone shopping, so all I got is enough eggs to make pancakes.”

“Works for me,” Cory said gratefully, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. The kitchen looked like it had been renovated in the last two decades, with newer-looking cabinets, a French-door refrigerator, and a professional-grade stove. Looking around, Cory realized the kitchen, living, and dining area had been designed with an eye towards maximizing the available space. The furniture looked well-worn and comfortable; the TV much newer, though not a big-screen TV. If Richie owned a laptop, he did not leave it out in the living area. The TV sat on a bookshelf that held what Cory assumed to be a DVD/Blu-ray player, given the plastic boxes of movies on the adjacent shelves, and a sound system. The art on the walls looked like they might belong to local artists; Cory was enough of an art thief he knew his classical works.

“How big is this house?”

“About a thousand square feet,” Richie told him, expertly mixing the batter. “Connor bought it for me when he discovered I was homeless again.”

“Not Mac?” Surprised, Cory looked at him.

“No,” Richie said tightly. “Mac hasn’t been in Seacouver since ‘98. Last I heard, he’d retreated from the world to recover from taking too many heads. I haven’t seen or heard from him since. Don’t expect to, either, although I heard rumors he might wander this way again.”

Richie shrugged and retrieved a flat griddle pan from a cabinet next to the stove. Putting butter on the pan, he turned on the burner underneath it.

“We argued the last time we were together. He wanted me to do something more than race motorcycles but all the things he was suggesting sounded boring to me.”

The butter sizzled on the griddle and, using a cup measure, Richie poured batter neatly onto it.

Cory chuckled. “I know that argument. My teacher and I have had that more times than I can count. My usual rebuttal is to ask him when he’ll change careers.”

“Does it work?”

“Usually works to shut him up.” He studied the younger immortal, seeing the echoes of old pain. “I hate to ask, but…how long were you homeless?”

“All told, most of a year. I lost my job and then the friend I’d been staying with lost hers, so she couldn’t afford let me stay anymore without paying something.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, but I still had keys to Mac’s warehouse, so I made myself a pretty nice crash pad if I say so myself.”

Cory winced at that image but considered it and the man who stood at the stove now. However rough that year had to have been, Richie had made it through. “You’re in a good place now, though?”

“Yeah,” Richie agreed. “Got this house, got a decent job, a few good friends, and with any luck, the headhunters will stay out of Seacouver a while longer.”

“Been bad?”

“Turn of the century brought out a bunch of headhunters, hoping to speed up the Gathering, or so a few of them tried to tell me. I told them it was bullshit; not all of them wanted to walk away and live another day.” Richie grimaced. “I’m probably jinxing it just saying it, but the last time I fought someone was six months ago. I haven’t missed it.”

“I hate fighting,” Cory agreed. Noticing the coffee pot on the counter, Cory asked, “Mind if I help myself to coffee?”

“Mugs in the cabinet above it,” Richie replied. “Milk’s in the fridge if you need it.”

“Too many years drinking it black to dilute it now,” Cory said as he made himself a cup. “Should I pour you one?”

Richie pointed to his cup to the left of the stove. “I’m good at this point.” He grabbed a plate from the cabinet to the left of the stove and filled it with pancakes. “How many do you want?”

“I’ll take three,” Cory said.

Richie cooked four more pancakes for himself, before adding four slices of Canadian bacon to the griddle. He gave half of the cooked meat to Cory, topped off both of their coffee mugs, turned off the stove, and then took the second bar stool next to Cory.

“I’m meeting a friend for a movie at noon,” Richie began. “I can give you a short sword, a sweatshirt, and some cash so you can get yourself a coat and a bus ticket if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.”

Cory considered the offer as he ate. “I appreciate it, but,” he took a deep breath, “if you’re willing to let me crash with you for another couple of days, I can get a friend to overnight me ID and cash. I’m supposed to fly back to Alexandria on Wednesday, and trust me, TSA doesn’t buy the ‘I forgot my driver’s license’ excuse.”

Richie was silent a moment before he asked, “Would this friend happen to be named Matthew or Ceirdwyn?”

Cory stared at him. “You know both of them?”

“I, uh, was spiraling downward nineteen years ago. Connor brought Ceirdwyn with him when he found me; he thought I might appreciate hearing someone not named MacLeod talking to me.” Richie chuckled. “She was furious with him for letting me get that bad. They were dating then.”

“How bad is bad, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I woke up to hearing her swear at him about not checking in on extended family,” Richie hedged, and Cory understood that he hadn’t been asleep, he’d been dead. “She didn’t know I know French.” He paused. “I didn’t know she considered me part of Connor’s family.”

Cory nodded. “She’s big on that sort of thing; believes that students and friends are the family trees an immortal chooses to make since we can’t have biological children. I just learned a long time ago not to call her ‘Grandma’ or she’ll kick my ass, even if in her family tree logic, it would be true.”

Richie mulled that notion over. “I can see that. But you’ll excuse me if I don’t claim Gregor Powers as my brother. He tried to kill me.”

Cory winced. “Yeah, that would be reason not to claim him. How did you meet Matthew?”

“At Ceirdwyn’s holiday party seven years ago. He sends me random emails, usually asking me about engineering stuff related to the police work he does.”

“In that case, you won’t mind if I ask you to call him, since I’m also without a phone.”

“Only if you do the dishes,” Richie bargained.

“Deal.” Wanting to keep their conversation light, Cory steered the rest of the breakfast discussion to something less fraught. “Are you still racing motorcycles?”

“No. Ceirdwyn convinced me to get a two-year associate degree in computer-aided drafting, since she thought I would do well at it. She was right. A small engineering firm hired me about fifteen years ago. Everyone there thinks I’ve got amazing genetics, so no one questions why I still look like I’m in my twenties.”

Cory whistled softly. “You lucked out then.”

Richie nodded. “It’s steady work, good pay, and since I only have to worry about paying utilities, the yearly taxes on the house, and mowing my small patch of lawn, I’m good. You still playing Robin Hood?”

Cory shook his head. “Not like I was. The recession hit and I realized I’d been stealing from the wrong people, and the rich were still getting richer. Made me reevaluate what I was doing, how, and why. I work for a security consulting firm; they send me out to do security risk assessments, since I know how to break into places and can figure out what works and what doesn’t. When I’m not doing that, I volunteer my time with whatever food bank or homeless shelter I can find.”

“Who’s Marnie?”

Cory grimaced. “The pretty woman I picked up for a one-night stand, who took offense at the way I was trying to charm the hotel clerk into giving us a discount. I had no idea she had gang ties.”

“Any chance those gang members will try to find you?” Richie asked dryly.

“I hope not,” Cory declared, shuddering at the thought. “They shot me dead. If I climbed out of that trunk without help, they’d think I was the second coming of Jesus.”

Richie looked relieved at that.

After Cory had washed the dishes, Richie dialed Matthew, putting the call to speaker. Matthew picked up on the second ring.

“Good afternoon, Richie. How are you?”

“Good, but I have someone here who wants to ask you a favor.”

“Hey, Matthew,” Cory spoke up, trying for casual, but aware his teacher was hard to fool.

“Cory, what have you done now?”

“I might’ve pissed off someone with gang ties,” Cory admitted. “She shot me dead, her goons stuffed me in a trunk, and they drove me to Seacouver. I’d already checked out of the hotel, and they didn’t leave me with much.”

Matthew sighed. “I take it you’re staying with Richie?”

“Yes.”

“Have you told your employer what happened to you?”

“No, I finished the work for them on Friday, and Richie found me early this morning, so as long as I call in tomorrow, they won’t mind nearly as much. I have a flight back to Alexandria on Wednesday, but there’s no way I can get on board a plane without a driver’s license. Don’t suppose you could get me some ID?”

“You’re still using Cory Raines?”

“Yeah, my Alexandria address.”

“You haven’t moved?” Matthew sounded surprised. “I thought you said you would sell that house.”

“Didn’t see the point when I needed a home base for this job and my employer’s in the city. Where are you?”

“I’m in DC.”

“Then would you can drive up and get my spare set of ID and credit cards from my safe in my bedroom? You know the combination.”

“Are you ever going to change that?” Matthew asked dryly.

“Not if it means I can ask you for favors like this.”

Matthew sighed. “Cory–”

“I know, I know. I owe you until the end of time,” Cory interrupted, grinning.

“Richie, what’s your address?” Matthew asked.

“1780 North 45th, Seacouver,” Richie said, adding in the zip code. “Email me the tracking number so I can let Cory know when it’s supposed to show up.” He spent a few more minutes chatting with Matthew, checking on the older immortal’s life, before disconnecting the call.

He then took a short sword out of one of the kitchen cabinets and a spare key from a drawer and handed both to Cory. “I’d rather not leave you defenseless while I’m gone. If you take off, please leave me a note so I don’t waste time looking for you. Security code for the alarm spells ‘lion heart.’ I’ll be back around 3.”

“Got it,” Cory said, then paused. “Is this friend you’re meeting a date?”

Richie shook his head. “Angie’s an old friend; we’ve known each other since we were ten years old. That said, she thinks I should be with someone and keeps trying to get me to meet people. I fully expect she’ll bring someone along.”

“You don’t mind?”

Richie shrugged again. “Not when she was how I met my last long-term relationship.”

“What happened?”

“Jerry wanted me to sell this house and move to Montreal with him. When I said I wasn’t interested in living in Canada, he claimed I was not living up to his standards and demanded if I loved him, I’d go. I wished him luck and said goodbye.” Richie sighed. “We were together for nine months. I was considering whether he was worth revealing immortality to when he delivered his ultimatum. He’s been gone for three months now."

“Oh.” Cory studied him a moment. “What would’ve made you choose differently?

Richie considered the question. “If he’d realized how much I love this city. Don’t get me wrong – I loved being in Paris, and I’ve enjoyed all the other places I’ve been – but I don’t feel compelled to move to somewhere else. If I died publicly, it would be a different question, but even so, I’d still stay somewhere in the Pacific Northwest.”

Cory nodded his understanding. “I’m like that about this continent, though I freely admit winter in the Midwest anywhere north of the US-Mexico border sucks.”

Richie chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve spent a few months riding through Mexico in the winter. Been cold here this winter, enough to make me wonder if I should’ve taken my vacation for longer.”

“It’s not the same as going with someone,” Cory offered. “Even if you Instagram everything.”

“You have an Instagram? Aren’t you afraid of someone tracing you through facial recognition or geocaching?”

Cory shrugged. “Not really; if someone’s hunting for my head, they’re welcome to try and take it. Not like I haven’t had my face and name posted on a wanted poster before, remember.”

Richie chuckled at that reminder. “But not always the right name?”

“One of the things I miss is when you could claim you weren’t someone a hell of a lot easier before needing ID for everything was a thing,” Cory said, shaking his head. “But that whole experience of having my face plastered as far as the local law could post has made me realize that there’s a limit on what the average person will remember or care about. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked into a bar with a wanted poster with my name and face on it and nobody noticed.”

“Not like the movies, huh?”

“So not like the movies. I refuse to spend my life obsessed with the Game and its consequences. Besides, I already know I have at least one doppelganger out there. I can’t control everything on social media. I’d rather focus on posting pictures of things that make me happy so maybe I can counter some of the ugly out there.”

Richie nodded understanding. “Yeah, I can see where you have to draw the line. My friends keep asking me when I’m going to put a photo on Facebook that isn’t one of my motorcycle.” He took a deep breath. “Much as I’d like to continue this conversation, I need to get going. If you leave, please lock up and set the alarm. This isn’t the ghetto, but I’d rather not lose what I have.”

“Got it.”

“Use any of the clothes in the box in the guest bedroom closet; I keep forgetting to donate or toss them. They were my ex-boyfriend’s; he left them here. You’re wearing some of it. Laundry detergent is on the shelf over the washer and dryer, if you want to toss your jeans and underwear in – or the other clothes, if they fit – and get them clean. I was going to rent a car share car so I could get groceries at Fred Meyer, so you’re welcome to come along. I’ll pay for a pay-as-you-go phone and some basic clothes if you don’t want to wait for whatever Matthew’s sending you. I’m sure you’d appreciate new underwear and need to call someone.”

Cory smiled in relief. “Yeah, my boss would probably appreciate if I called in and let him know where I am. I’ll pay you back. Thanks, Richie,” he told him sincerely.


	2. Chapter 2

“How was the movie?” Cory asked when Richie returned.

Richie shrugged. “Weird. It was a political meets sci-fi film, in French with English subtitles. Angie thought I’d like it because she knows I can speak French.”

“And the unexpected guest?”

Richie chuckled. “More interested in Angie than me, and as usual, Angie was oblivious.”

“She doesn’t pick up when someone’s interested in her?”

“Not when they’re women, no.” Richie opened the bag he had been carrying and tossed a hip-length denim and faux-shearling-lined coat to Cory. “See if that fits; the temperature’s dropping out there. Forecast is calling for snow tonight, maybe as late as tomorrow.”

Cory tried it on. To his surprise, it fit. For the first time since Richie had rescued him, Cory wondered if Richie cared more about him than he was letting show.

Looking relieved, Richie told him, “I took a chance on the Goodwill store that’s across from the movie theater and found that for cheap. It’s yours to keep.”

“Thanks, Richie. Did you want to eat something before we shopped?”

“Figured we’d be hungry. There’s a teriyaki place next door to the Fred Meyer. That work for you?”

“As long as you don’t accuse me of being a cheap date,” Cory teased.

Richie froze before chuckling softly and meeting Cory’s gaze. “That presumes I’d date you.” He stepped closer, and gently traced the curve of Cory’s face with two of his fingers before pressing them against Cory’s lips in an imitation of a kiss. “Who says I won’t let you just fuck me, screw dating?”

Cory’s eyes widened and his breath caught. He’d always found the younger immortal to be handsome. This more grounded, more muscled, and more serious version was an intriguing package. He grabbed Richie’s hand before he could pull it away. “Don’t promise me what you aren’t willing to deliver, Richie.” He let Richie’s hand go.

“Who said I was promising you anything?” Richie countered. He smiled before adding, “Besides buying you lunch, some clothes, and a phone, that is. We should get going before it gets too crazy.”

Cory had always prided himself on rolling with changes. Deciding that Richie had only been joking, he took a deep breath and followed the younger man out of the house. Yet the possibility tantalized Cory, and he couldn’t stop analyzing it. As they ate, Cory concluded Richie had meant only to tease, and told himself to rein in his imagination.

It didn’t take them long to eat and then start the shopping for Richie’s groceries. Fred Meyer was a combination department and grocery store, which meant Cory could get socks, underwear, a few t-shirts, a new pair of jeans, a pay-as-you-go cell phone, and a duffel bag in which to put everything. Richie didn’t seem alarmed by the expense, for which Cory was grateful. Had it been anyone else, Cory knew he would be tempted not to repay him – but he had learned his lesson about pissing Richie off and had no desire to repeat that experience.

Noticing Richie was lingering over the meat selections, Cory said, “If you’re calculating food for me, I don’t eat that much, but if you’re buying stuff you’d eat it anyway, I won’t object.”

“Do you cook?”

“Well enough not to starve, but nothing fancy,” Cory warned him. “I’m only a vegetarian when I’m too poor to buy meat.”

“Okay then,” Richie said, and put a few more items in his basket.

“Do you enjoy cooking?”

“Love it, actually, but I couldn’t do it as a job. I bartended enough when I was younger to know I hate kissing ass just to pay rent. I’d do it again if I had to, but now I know I’m not the bad student my teachers said I was, I doubt I’d go there.”

“I couldn’t do it,” Cory replied. “All those people who expect you to make something perfect and then don’t want to pay for it.”

Richie glanced at him. “You’re the last person I’d expect to look down on those kinds of people.”

Cory made a face. “It’s one thing to steal from the rich so you can give to the poor. Scamming a free meal just because you think you’re entitled is beyond rude; it’s disrespectful to the poor people who busted their asses to make it. You’re not ‘sticking it to the Man’ then; you’re just screwing over someone, who isn’t ‘the Man,’ but some poor dude.”

“Careful, Cory. You keep talking like that, you might convince me to keep you around,” Richie said lightly.

Not taking his flirtation seriously, Cory laughed. “You’ll find someone else, I’m sure.”

“No one like you,” Richie countered.

Cory chuckled. “That’s damn straight.” Curiosity made him ask, “Are you happy, Richie?”

Richie lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “Happiness is overrated; you can waste a lot of energy trying to achieve some mystical level of what that means. I like my life. It’s more than I expected I’d have, given I grew up in foster care, and wasn’t that great of a student. Turns out if I have all the tools, the time, and the support to help me succeed, I like learning. What stopped me before was not having basic shit, like pencils and paper, and someone to help me when I got stuck.” He paused. “For what it’s worth, Cory – you here made me realize it’s been a long time since I’ve been around another of our kind for something other than a few random holiday parties or to play the Game. I talk to a lot of people on the phone or texts or for a few, videocalls, but it’s not the same.”

Cory winced mentally at that image. “Everyone who comes to Seacouver is looking for a Highlander?”

“Or me,” Richie added.

Startled, Cory looked at him. “You’re not that interested in winning, are you?”

“For a while, I was,” Richie admitted, regret shadowing his face. “Long story, but it means some of the choices I made back then have come back to haunt me.”

“Happens that way,” Cory agreed, mindful that they were in public and had to censor their conversation. “Some people hold grudges longer than I’ve ever expected.”

“Yeah, well, that way leads to judging people who likely have moved on,” Richie said. He met Cory’s gaze. “I’d rather not spend my time obsessed like that.”

Cory let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he realized Richie meant what he had said the previous night. “Me neither,” he agreed.

Richie pulled out his phone and checked his grocery list. Satisfied he had gotten everything he had intended, he asked, “Did you need anything else?”

“If I do, I’ll get it tomorrow night,” Cory decided. “Matthew’s pretty good about using same-day delivery so I’m not without ID or cash.”

Richie nodded his understanding, and they went to checkout. Once they got their groceries home and put away, Richie went to move the car share car to the next major street a few blocks away. Cory used the time alone to leave his employer a message, since he had lost the laptop and phone he had been using, and to run a load of laundry.

When Richie returned, Richie gave Cory his phone number and showed him how to work the entertainment system. They passed the rest of the evening watching a TV show named _Maiden_ _Light_ , whose basic premise seemed to be ‘the Age of Sail if set in space and in a future time.’ Cory enjoyed watching how the show producers translated that time into a sprawling narrative involving three ships, their crews, and an ongoing political battle between two rival planets.

“Whoever is behind this,” Cory noted as Richie shut off the TV, claiming he needed to get to sleep so he could go to work in the morning, “did their homework. Do you know about who did the research for the show? It’s very accurate, even if it’s set in space.”

“One of the producers is a historian who got into the business doing period documentaries,” Richie told him. “I didn’t think I’d like it, but one of my coworkers suggested it when he found out I practice combat sword fighting.”

Cory lifted a brow, amused. “Do you really?”

“It’s a good cover for having a sword sharp enough to kill,” Richie offered, grinning. “I’m a member of the club here in the city; they keep asking me when I’ll fight in one of their tournaments. I keep telling them I just like the exercise. Don’t really want my name out there any more than it already is.”

Cory nodded in understanding. “I don’t really care about the Game; it’s found me a few times, but I’m here and they’re not.”

“Now you have me curious. How old are you? Mac said he thought you were older than he was, but he wasn’t sure how much older.”

Cory grinned. “I’m over seven hundred, Richie. I was born in 1256. Your turn.”

“I was born in 1974,” Richie admitted, and that fact made Cory blink.

“Amanda told me you were young, but I didn’t realize you were that young,” Cory exclaimed.

“I was nineteen when I died,” Richie replied, shrugging.

“Damn. I was twenty-nine when Matthew hanged me for stealing and killing deer out of the king’s forest.”

“Was that old for your time?”

“Kind of – if you made it to your thirties, you had a good chance of making it to your fifties, but those were long odds back then.”

“No wonder you say this show feels accurate, even if it’s set in space.”

Cory grinned. “I hated sailing; I rarely had enough money to get out of the lowest decks, where the conditions were godawful, but I wanted to see the world, and that was the only way I could.”

“Did you get very far away from where you grew up?”

“In the mind of the man I was when I died? Hell, yes. I knew there was a world beyond my village, because I could ride a horse and had ridden up to two days west away from there, but I didn’t know that world had oceans. I was born in what’s now Tutbury, England; when Matthew took me to Ireland, I thought we were going to fall off the edge of the world. He still teases me about that sometimes.”

Richie chuckled. “I grew up here. I still remember the feeling I had when I crossed the Mississippi River the first time on my motorcycle, like I’d hit some magical milestone. It suddenly felt like I’d really crossed half a continent, even if I’d been making my way from Seacouver for days.”

Cory grinned. “Oh, yeah. I can see that. I still haven’t made it to mainland China,” he admitted, “but I did make it to Hong Kong and Australia. What about you? How far have you gone?”

“I’ve been as far south as Panama; Croatia is about as far east as I’ve gone. My best friends and I are talking about taking a vacation next year to Asia, since we’re all single and want to go.”

“Any place in mind?”

“Angie wants to go to Japan; Thomas wants to go to Hong Kong. I figure we can find a cruise that’ll do both, and that way, we can be comfortable in between all the tours.”

“You’ve traveled with them before?”

Richie nodded. “We did a cruise together to the Bahamas four years ago, and Thomas and I treated Angie to seeing _Hamilton_ in NewYork two years ago for her birthday, which meant we also had to play tourist for a few days so it wouldn’t ruin the surprise.”

“You sound fond of them.”

“I’ve known Thomas for a decade now. He’s an architect; we tried dating, but discovered we had no chemistry that way. We’re better friends. Seven years ago, a headhunter kidnapped him and Angie to get to me, so they know about immortality.”

“That sucks. Did they recover well?”

“Got them to a counselor Ceirdwyn recommended, so they’ve processed it, and have been able to move on. You know how you’re really not over something like that; you just learn to deal with it, and how to not make it the thing that stops you from living. Thomas teases me sometimes that I need to introduce him to some suave, handsome, rich immortal so he can have his historical romance, happy ending. When Angie hears him say that, she usually swats him and says with his luck, it’ll be some dude with outdated notions on how to behave with a gay lover.”

Cory laughed. “Does he have horrible luck with men?”

“Oh, yeah. He likes to claim that I ruined him for anyone else, but really, he picks up guys for one-night stands and then tries to date them, which usually isn’t what they want.” Richie became serious. “Which reminds me. Speaking of bad choices in dates – I’ve been meaning to ask: did you lose a sword in Bellingham?”

“Haven’t carried one in years, actually. I learned to carry a pair of knives instead; it means I can replace them more readily.”

Startled by that, Richie looked at him, confusion plain on his face. “But how do you win if you only carry knives? You’d be at a disadvantage from the start.”

“One of my favorite tactics is to steal my opponent’s sword,” Cory admitted. “Or, if I’m with a friend, convince them to let me borrow theirs.”

Richie blinked, considering that tactic. “You don’t hold any value to knowing the weight and balance of the sword?”

Cory shook his head and shrugged. “It’s not like sighting in a rifle, where you have to factor in a number of variables. If you’re good at sword fighting, you know from the moment you pick up a blade whether it’s one with a good balance or not.” He hesitated before admitting, “And I’ve stolen Quickenings, too. Mostly people I knew wouldn’t sit well in my friends’ heads.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “Were your friends grateful?”

“Not always.” Cory considered it a moment before amending it to, “I pissed off Duncan and Amanda.”

Richie chuckled. “I don’t know how I’d react to that happening to me. Depends on who I’d been fighting against, how hard won the battle was.” He studied Cory a moment. “Wouldn’t dealing with the Quickening be rougher than if you’d been doing the fighting?”

“Not really. I usually have enough adrenaline surging through me from needing to execute that move at the right moment.”

Richie whistled softly, impressed. “You’d have to time that right to be that close to get it, or it could split between you and the person who won the fight.”

Cory did a double-take. “How do you know about split Quickenings? Most immortals I know don’t know about those.”

Richie shrugged. “Same way I know most of what I know: took the head of someone who did, and then asked someone older than me to confirm what I knew. He warned me that the other half would come looking for me, and he was right. Took about a decade before that other half hunted me down, wanting revenge. I felt sorry for them but couldn’t convince them to walk away.”

“How much do you play the Game?” Concerned, Cory leaned forward. Too many Quickenings could mess up an immortal; he had no desire to see that happen to Richie.

“Lately it’s been once every six months or so. I’m hoping it stays that way, but Connor warned me it’ll heat up again, now there’s a new generation of immortals old enough to play it.”

Cory grimaced at that news. “I’ve never liked that part. Sometimes I want to go find all the pre-immortal kids in foster care or the orphanages and round them up and teach them about how awful the Game really is, so they grow up believing in peace.”

Richie laughed. “You’d have to get them to believe that people are mostly good first. If they’re anything like I was, they’ve had more than enough proof that people suck.”

Cory frowned. “How long were you in foster care?”

“Until I was seventeen and Mac and Tessa became my guardians. By then, I’d been living on the streets for three years, had dropped out of school, and had been running with a gang, stealing whatever we could fence. Did you have a family growing up?”

Cory’s heart ached for the child Richie had been. “My mother never made a secret of the fact I was illegitimate, but she saw raising me as redemption for my soul, and she worked in the castle as a maid. She died when I was a teenager of a fever. By then, I’d started hanging out with some disreputable people.” Cory smiled, remembering. “I haven’t thought about those people in years, but they were my friends.” His smile faded as he remembered his grief when Matthew, who had been sheriff, had captured them all and hanged them one by one, until he was the last to die.

Looking as though he recognized the look of a memory tinged with a grief, Richie reached out and gripped Cory’s wrist briefly. “Sorry if I made you remember sad shit.”

Cory waved off the concern. “No. As Ceirdwyn would say, when you remember someone who died a long time ago, you’re making them immortal.”

That garnered a smile from Richie.

Needing to change the subject before he dwelled too long on why he liked seeing Richie smile, Cory asked, “What time are you getting up?”

“About six,” Richie replied. “I go for a run first thing, and then eat breakfast after. My work is a fifteen-minute drive from here, and they don’t expect me there before 8. I’ll try not to wake you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cory assured him. “I’m usually pretty good at falling back asleep.”

* * *

The promised snow had turned out to be typical Seacouver snow – a few inches overnight, melted by mid-morning. Matthew’s package arrived on Monday, enabling Cory to buy a cheap laptop, get cash from an ATM to pay back Richie, and connect with his employer to discover what time his flight was, file a claim for the lost equipment, and catch up on his work email.

“What time is your flight tomorrow?” Richie asked at dinner Tuesday night.

“Seven AM,” Cory said. “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to take me to the airport?”

Richie considered the notion. “Long as you don’t mind waking up at four so you can be there two hours early. Airport will take us about twenty minutes from here.”

“No. Though it means we won’t watch the last episode of _Maiden Light_ like you were thinking.”

Richie smiled briefly. “All the more reason for you to stay in touch then. You can text me and tell me what you think when you see it.”

Surprised by that, Cory studied the other man, seeing only sincerity. “You really want to be friends with me? Not that I want to disabuse you of that, but most people don’t take me seriously. Hell, sometimes I don’t take me seriously.”

Richie’s smile widened. “I’ll take my chances, same as I have with Amanda the last two decades.” He paused before adding, “I have a lot of acquaintances among us, but few I’d call friend. I’d like to get to know you better.”

Cory nodded. “Just tell no one I don’t prank all my friends all the time.”

“Just the ones you know will let you get away with it?”

“Or at least won’t kill me permanently,” Cory agreed. He extended his hand for Richie to shake. “Anytime, anything you need, Richie, call me. I owe you for getting me out of that damned trunk. How’s that song go? I’d lie for you, steal, and cheat?”

Richie shook his hand. “I’ll take ‘staying in touch after we part ways at the airport,’ how’s that sound? Save the lying, stealing, and cheating for when it’s warranted.” He grinned, and Cory fell for the way his smile lit his green eyes and transformed his face.

“Deal,” Cory said, and tried to ignore the skittering of his pulse. He had no business getting involved with a man on the other side of the country, who had found security in a simple life, and who didn’t need a recently reformed thief in his bed. Yet Cory wondered how to turn this fledging friendship into something more. He had deliberately remained single after realizing his job meant he was not home much, wanting his next relationship to be with someone who wanted something exclusive, long-term, and committed. He was tired of one-night stands, of having to lie about his life, of having to wonder when Amanda would consider him good enough to be her lover again. He was tired of having to be ‘good enough,’ for that matter. He took a deep breath and asked, “What’s your phone number?”


	3. Chapter 3

The house seemed unusually empty after Cory had left, and Richie shook himself at his fancy. He had gotten used to living alone; part of what had made parting with his ex-boyfriend Jerry easier was that he’d had no desire to move in with him. The last few days with Cory had made Richie realize he had settled in his last relationship. Jerry had been pretty, safe, and ordinary. Richie’s devotion to practicing martial arts and keeping fit had thrilled him. He’d been in love with the Richie he thought he knew: a young-looking man with a decent-paying job, a career he enjoyed, and a few close friends, who was a devoted, attentive lover. Richie had never told him about immortality, unwilling to risk revealing his secret. Richie had even gone to great lengths to hide the one time in the last year he’d fought and won a challenge, suspecting Jerry could not understand such a world-shattering secret. Jerry’s reaction to refusing to move with him had proven Richie’s theory correct. Angie and Thomas had both argued that Richie’s refusal to let Jerry know about immortality would doom their relationship; he had been relieved to tell them that hadn’t been the cause.

At forty-four, Richie had loved and been loved to varying degrees of success. He had yet to find someone he wanted to spend decades with; watching Tessa Noel and Duncan MacLeod together had set a personal bar for what true love was.

Cory Raines intrigued him. Surviving centuries of living was something Richie aspired to; but more than that, he knew of Cory’s reputation. Now, though, he wondered how much of that reputation had been cultivated deliberately. No headhunter would chase after a prank-loving immortal when so many other more interesting targets were out there, such as immortals reputed to be fierce fighters, the newly immortal and less likely to be competent, or who were legends. Richie wanted to know more. He wanted to discover how Cory had survived so long, how he had reinvented himself, and how he’d fight. He wanted to know if Cory had meant it when he had warned not to promise what he couldn’t deliver. Richie longed for someone to take care of him, to support him, to be his partner in love and in life.

 _You don’t need an unrepentant thief in your bed, especially not an immortal one_ , Richie told himself. _And especially someone who’s been Amanda’s lover. No way you can compare with that level of experience. You’re better off dating someone like Jerry, someone safe, who’d be overjoyed you have manners and like to make sure your lover gets off before you do_.

With a sigh, Richie resolved to find someone. Then, late that evening, Cory texted him.

 _Watched the last episode of_ Maiden Light  _on the plane. Please tell me you watched it._

With a grin, Richie texted back, _Yeah, just finished it. Can’t believe they left it on a cliffhanger like that. Did you get home okay?_

 _My ass is sore from sitting so long,_ Cory griped, and _I annoyed_ _the woman in the next seat because I wasn’t interested in talking to her._

_How come?_

_She thought the lining in the denim coat you got me was real shearling and demanded I destroy it because ‘the sheep suffered for its creation.’ I’ve sheared enough sheep to know it’s fake – but she got upset with my explanation about how if it was real, the sheep’s dead and isn’t suffering anymore. After that, I didn’t want to hear anything she said._

Richie shook his head. _Gotta watch out for those militant animal rights activists_ , he teased Cory.

 _I’m not a fan of the way we waste food or meat, or how people are starving in places you wouldn’t expect,_ Cory wrote, _but I’ll never be convinced that how to change things is to force your opinion on the already converted. Either they’ll listen or they won’t. I’ve been chased by enough mobs to know that one._

Richie laughed _. Guess it’s a good thing you’re less likely to experience that these days, he noted._

 _Yeah._ Cory added a relieved emoji.

_Now you have me curious. Why was a mob chasing you? Or should I ask when?_

_One time, it was because I was caught kissing a guy, and they wanted to hang me for it._

_Did they catch you?_

_No, but I got lucky that time. If it had been a hundred years later and I’d been in Spain then, I would’ve hanged for sure. The Spanish Inquisition was no joke._

_Jeezus, Cory. Didn’t Matthew teach you to be more careful?_

_Yeah, but I didn’t think they would catch my lover and me that time._

Richie groaned aloud. _So, what you’re saying is, you’ve never been straight, and you’ve been finding out just how many ways people think loving another man is shameful/sinful/unnatural for centuries._

_Yeah. Trust me when I say this century and this country right now is better than it has been, but someone’s always used religion and fear as weapons against those who are different. Do you get any grief from your coworkers about your dating men?_

_No, and it would be illegal if they did. Seacouver has a city ordinance against discrimination based on sexual orientation. There’s even an anti-conversion therapy ordinance._

_Nice! Makes me want to live there._

_I wouldn’t say no if you did,_ Richie wrote, and realized after he’d typed it he meant it. Realizing Cory might misinterpret his words, he stared at it and left it be.

To his relief, Cory wrote, _Been a while since I lived west of the Mississippi. Hey, I know it’s late there, so I’ll let you go. But text me anytime. I’m stuck in the office for the next few weeks._

 _Will do_ , Richie promised.

* * *

 _Do you have time for a phone call?_ Cory texted the following Tuesday afternoon.

 _Sorry, still at work and headed to a status meeting,_ Richie wrote back. _Vent via text if it helps; I’ll read it all in an hour._

He came back to find a long series of texts.

 _My boss is accusing me of stealing and then selling the laptop and the cell phone, even though I traced them as far south as Portland,_ Cory wrote, and then added a series of emojis that vividly communicated his frustration. _I am not a goddamned thief this decade or the last; my record is clean. Even after I showed her the trace on the laptop and phone, showing that I got our IT department to find and remotely wipe them, she seems convinced that I was ‘reckless’ and ‘irresponsible’ and a whole bunch of other shit I’ve heard before. All that bullshit language means is that she doesn’t want to admit she has a skewed perspective on how much trouble anyone can get into, and that because I’m a guy, she thinks I should have automatically known I would get in danger from picking up some random woman._

_The kicker? If I’d been a woman in the same scenario, she would be horrified this all happened. Now she’s put me on three weeks’ ‘probation’ and I can’t travel for any reason. We have a big client down in DC that I’m supposed to go check out in two and half weeks. When I pointed that out to her, she said one of my coworkers could do it. Michael half-asses everything and she lets him get away with it because he’s cute._

Cory ended the wall of text with, _Call me; if I talk to Matthew about this, he’ll want me to either quit or shut up and/or report my boss for sexism. I need to hear about something other than a solution to a problem I already know how to fix._

Richie glanced at his watch, calculating the time difference. The work he had to do could wait until the morning; the meeting had let him know that they had pushed the expected deadline out another week. It was close enough to quitting time that leaving a few minutes early wouldn’t be noticed, so he logged off his computer, picked up his helmet and put on his jacket, and headed down to the underground parking garage of the fifteen-story building where his company was located. He put on his helmet and connected the Bluetooth speaker with his phone, mounted his motorcycle, and made his way home.

At a stoplight, he used his phone’s voice command features to dial Cory’s number.

“Hey, Cory,” Richie said when Cory greeted him. “Want to hear about the girl who quit the donut factory?”

“Sure,” Cory said, sounding relieved. “Why’d she quit?”

“She was tired of the hole business.”

Cory laughed dryly. “That the best you can do?”

“Well, figured I’d start with that. I mean, I want to make a joke about sodium, but Na.”

Silence met his words, and Richie accelerated through the stoplight.

“That’s just…awful,” Cory declared. “Especially since I had to look up what the pun was in that.”

Richie laughed. “You asked for distractions, didn’t you?”

“So I did. You on your bike headed home?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about your way home.”

“Most of it’s through the neighborhood, so it’s a lot of stops and I rarely get above 25 miles per hour,” Richie said promptly. “But for three blocks, it’s along one of the city parks, and sometimes seeing that stretch of green space is enough to make me remember why I love the city.”

Amused, Cory asked, “Not much for the wilderness?”

“Mac took up to his cabin on his island north of here a few times. The first time I went, I thought he’d taken me to the end of the world. I didn’t know how to sit in a canoe, paddle, or deal with the sounds of the woods.” Richie chuckled, remembering how awkward that had been.

“I thought for a long time I wouldn’t ever see a day when riding a horse became uncommon,” Cory revealed. “Still not sure if I’m comfortable with the all-electric cars.”

“They creep me out with how quiet they are. One of my coworkers hates them because his wife is deaf and while she can see them coming, she can’t tell if one is behind her.”

“Hadn’t thought about that being an issue,” Cory remarked. He took a deep breath. “Thanks, Richie. I’ll let you go so you can focus on the road.”

“You’re welcome.” Richie disconnected the line. When he passed the park, he pulled over so he could snap a photo in the fading sunlight and sent it to Cory, who sent him an emoji of a smile in return.

Richie woke the next day to find a photo of what looked like the road between multiple corporate office buildings. Cory had captioned it with, ‘I live a mile away from where I work, so this is my view walking home.’

 _I’ve heard it’s hard to find a place that close to your work when you live in the DC area,_ Richie wrote as he ate breakfast.

 _Not in my world,_ Cory texted back. _I’m not broke, just practical._

Richie burst out laughing. _Not willing to fund the pickpockets who stalk the trains and bus stops?_

_Not when it makes me want to pick their pockets and teach them to be better at guarding what they’ve gotten. I don’t want to judge anyone for scraping a living together, but it’s like someone telling you how to race a motorcycle. You know how to do it better already. You hate to see someone struggling the way you did._

Amused, Richie texted, _Well, if you ever want to teach me how to hustle better, I wouldn’t say no._

 _You’re making me think Mac didn’t completely reform you,_ Cory noted.

Richie grinned. _You’d be right. Gotta go to work – hope your boss doesn’t give you more grief today._

 _Your mouth to God’s ears_ , Cory texted. _Have a good day, Richie._

 _You too, Cory._ Feeling good about the conversation, Richie put away his phone, finished his breakfast, and headed into work.

That Friday, Thomas texted him. _Meet me and Angie at Nowhere, 7 pm._

Willing to go dancing with his two best friends at one of the city’s best clubs, Richie didn’t think twice about agreeing. The club had a seating area in the back of the club, separated from the dance floor by a wall of glass that muted the sound. Angie, Richie, and Thomas had claimed a table near the rear entrance to the seating area. An hour and a half after arriving, Richie found himself nursing a drink, though, instead of picking up someone. He watched Thomas succeed in doing so and wished him luck as he left with his conquest.

Angie nudged him ten minutes later.

“Usually you and Thomas are neck and neck on who finds Mr. Right Now first,” she noted. “I’m usually the last one out of here.”

Richie turned to her. Not for the first time, he found himself grateful such a pretty, distinctive woman had remained his friend for decades. She was a petite, slender woman in her late forties. She had a wide forehead, an oval-shaped face, high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a hairline that set back farther on her head than most people’s. She had coiled her long black hair into an intricate braid that left the nape of her neck bare. The flimsy strappy black dress she wore glittered in the club’s lights. Her backpack purse held the tunic top and leggings she had worn to work.

“Not in the mood tonight. Want to dance some more?”

She smiled. “Thanks, but tomorrow’s my morning at the soup kitchen, so I should head home.” She studied him in the shadowed light of the club. “Everything OK?”

Richie sipped his drink and grimaced at the watered-down taste. “Other than this overpriced drink? Nah, just – talked to a friend earlier, made me remember some things.”

Angie looked at him. “Someone with a long lifeline?” At his nod, she sighed. “You get broody and introspective whenever you talk to one of those friends.”

Richie winced at her assessment. “Sorry, Angie. Maybe I should just call it a night. Want me to walk you out?”

“I took the bus, but you know I’ll never say no to you being the gentleman.” She pulled on the hip-length sweater coat she had brought with her in anticipation of the evening chill and picked up her backpack purse.

Richie chuckled and abandoned the drink. He put on his motorcycle jacket, which he had hung on the back of the chair and slung his backpack across one shoulder before standing. Offering his arm to her, he gestured in a courtly fashion. “My lady,” he intoned jokingly.

Angie laughed, but took his arm. Together, they walked out. When they were pre-teens, Richie had loved her with all the intensity of the boy he’d been, never once dreaming of the paths they would travel without each other. He still loved her, but with the quiet fire of years-long friendship instead of the burning passion of a lover. The man he was now treasured her and the woman she had become.

The club was, like a lot of nightclubs in major cities, in a less-desirable part of downtown. Richie remembered his gang had once claimed territory here; he saw the graffiti painted on the walls of the buildings nearby and read the signs that it was still contested, years later. Angie’s bus stop was three blocks away from the nightclub; the bus shelter was graffitied and barely lit. He waited with Angie until her bus arrived, then made his way over to the well-lit, 24-hour garage where he had parked his motorcycle.

Immortal presence whispered a warning and Richie turned, halfway across the garage floor. He saw a trench-coat-clad Caucasian man approach him, drawing his sword as he did so.

“Look, it’s fucking late, and I’d rather not trigger every car alarm in this garage,” Richie called out, stopping the other immortal short. “I’d rather we both kept on living.”

The strange immortal eyed him warily. “Are you not Richie Ryan?”

“No,” Richie shot back. He turned away and kept walking to his motorcycle.

Hearing footsteps, he pulled out his sword and turned, suspecting an attack. The other immortal looked shocked at his parry and backed up rather than press a defense.

Richie rolled his eyes. “It’s not an immortal life if you’re dead,” he pointed out ruthlessly. “And like I said, I really don’t want to set off every alarm in this garage, which will happen when I take your Quickening. Go back to wherever hole you crawled out of; I’m not interested in your head.”

“But – Even if you’re not Ryan, you’re worth something. What about the Game?!”

Richie sighed. “Will be here tomorrow. What’s your name?”

“Joey Kravit,” the other immortal said, drawing himself up with pride.

“Joey, go home. If you want to really fight, meet me at the old Eisenhower Middle School tomorrow at dawn,” Richie told him, deliberately giving him a location that hadn’t existed in Seacouver for two decades. It was now part of a new development – and the exact address for the school was now a police station.

Richie watched Joey accept the redirect eagerly and walk away. He waited until Joey was out of sight before shaking his head and getting on his motorcycle. He had no intention of being anywhere near the old school address at dawn. With any luck, Joey would be like the last challenger Richie had sent that way and make enough of a fuss that he’d get arrested for causing a public disturbance or something of the sort.

* * *

 _Are you sending challengers to the police station again?_ Joe Dawson texted Richie the following afternoon.

 _I don’t know what you’re talking about_ , Richie wrote back.

Joe called him. “Bullshit.”

Grinning, Richie answered, “Hey, not my fault Eisenhower Middle School’s fields are part of the new West Village development, or the exact address of the school is now the new police station.”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that Joey Kravit was arrested. He’ll be out tomorrow. I take it you’re not worried he’ll hunt you down?”

Richie shrugged. “Just because he found me once doesn’t mean he’ll find me again. I’m young, single, and it was a Friday night. Odds were I’d be at a club in Founder’s Square. Until I see him again, I refuse to worry about it.”

“Be careful, Richie.”

“You do the same, Joe. Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?”

“When are you coming back to my club instead of hanging out in those dives down in Founder’s Square?”

Richie chuckled. “Jealous, Joe?”

“Last time you were here, you were with someone,” Joe pointed out. “Just wondering if it’s a case of bad memories.”

“No, I’m not avoiding you,” Richie countered, suspecting that was the real reason. “Just…wanted someplace where it’s a little more of a target-rich environment.”

“I see,” Joe said knowingly.

“And introducing anyone to you feels super-important to me,” Richie added.

Joe chuckled. “I’m honored, then. Well, I’d love to see you – with or without someone important.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Richie hedged, unwilling to make a promise he couldn’t keep. “Thanks for letting me know about that guy from last night.”

“You’re welcome.” Joe disconnected the call shortly thereafter.

Needing perspective, Richie texted Cory. _I know I’m not wrong for not wanting to fight every challenge, but sometimes it sure as hell feels like it._

 _Only because doing nothing is a choice,_ Cory wrote back, _and choices have consequences. That said, don’t go borrowing guilt when it’s not warranted. You can’t control what other people do. You didn’t want to fight. That’s on you. What your challenger does next is on them._

_But what if that means this guy hunts and kills someone else, or terrorizes people to find me again?_

_And? That’s still on them, not you. I’m not a priest, Richie. I’ll never offer you absolution. But if you want distractions, solutions, propositions, inappropriate jokes, leftover fireworks from New Year’s – I’m your man._

Richie barked a laugh. _And what if I said I was up for propositions?_ he dared to write.

_Then I have one exceptionally fine bridge complete with a troll for sale._

Richie sent him a laughing emoji.

_Or, if that doesn’t suit, how about a vacation to a secluded island, all expenses paid…by an anonymous contributor._

_Let me guess, the anonymous contributor will be me, via a roundabout route,_ Richie wrote, adding an amused emoji.

 _I’m shocked you would think an upstanding gentleman such as myself would ever…_ Cory wrote, then added 🤣.

_Uh huh, and I don’t know what the inside of a jail cell looks like._

_I’m shocked that such an upstanding gentleman such as yourself…_ 😉

Richie laughed, and sent, _LOL!_

 _Feel better?_ Cory asked knowingly.

_Yeah, thanks, Cory, I needed that._

* * *

Over the next month, Cory and Richie kept texting each other. Often, it was a joke or a photo of something unique in their respective cities, but it also included stories of what was happening in their lives, things that frustrated or excited them, and general conversation. Cory was a vivid writer, using emojis Richie hadn’t known existed, and just as liable to include photos or videos in his text messages. Richie began to look forward to their random conversations. Neither noticed when they were corresponding daily. Nor did they notice when their end-of-week calls transitioned to videocalls.

Cory called one Friday night in April just as Richie was getting ready to head out. Picking up the videocall without thinking, Richie greeted, “Hey, Cory. What’s up?”

“Damn, Richie, you look good,” Cory noted, admiration and appreciation in his voice. “Hot date?”

Richie glanced at his jeans and dress shirt, marveling at Cory’s appreciation. He didn’t think what he was wearing was that impressive. “Not really? This is what I wear to work. My best friend, Angie, wants me to meet her new guy. I think she just wants to be sure he’s not one of us.”

“Would it change how she feels about him?”

Richie shrugged. “It might. She knows about us. Don’t know if I mentioned it or not, but she and my other best friend, Thomas, were kidnapped by a headhunter seven years ago. They saw me kill their kidnapper.”

“And you’re still friends,” Cory noted, appreciation in his voice. “Those are damn good friends you have, Richie. I can see why you’d be interested in making sure whoever Angie’s dating isn’t a creep.”

“We met when we were ten years old,” Richie replied. “She’s the oldest friendship I have.”

Cory nodded understanding. “Even if the guy she’s dating isn’t one of us, he’ll feel threatened by that unless he’s secure in who he is and trusts her.”

Richie grimaced. “Let’s hope he is. I really am tired of her trying to date people who aren’t worth it.”

“How come you’ve never dated her?”

“We were each other’s first kiss,” Richie admitted. “But her mom didn’t want me hanging around – I was the ‘bad’ kid.” He shrugged. “I’m more interested in guys these days, and she and I have different wants in lovers.” He checked the time on his phone and winced. “And I’m sorry, Cory, but I have to get my gear on to get across the city in time for dinner.”

“I’ll make this quick, then. I have an interview for a job with a security consulting firm in Seacouver on Monday. They’re springing for a hotel and a rental car; I’ll be in town Sunday evening. Want to meet me for dinner?”

Pleased and surprised, Richie said, “Sure. I thought you liked the firm you were working for?”

“Remember how I told you they gave me grief over losing the laptop and cell phone? Well, two weeks ago, I got a new boss. She’s a micromanager and she’s convinced I’m no expert at spotting holes in a security setup, despite my degree in criminal justice and my years of working here.”

“I know you said you wanted distractions because work was getting you down, but I didn’t realize you were that upset.” Richie set his phone down and slid his sword into his jacket before putting on the jacket. “And it’s not like you can tell her you’ve been a robber for centuries.”

“No, and I’m not uneducated, either.” Frustration showed on Cory’s face. “Mind you, I’m a horrible student – Matthew will be the first to tell you – but between him and Ceirdwyn, I’ve learned how to learn so that degree I got wasn’t a faked piece of paper. I sat in the classes, took notes, did the homework, and studied for the tests to get the grades I got. I thought about faking the certificate, but realized I might learn something, and I’m glad I did. It reinforced that I’d have to be better than anyone I’ve ever been to defeat the way technology is evolving.”

Richie put on his motorcycle boots. “Is that the other part of why you stopped robbing banks?”

“Yeah. Security cameras are one thing, but biometric and facial recognition are scary territory. We’ll have to rethink how we develop identities when we die publicly; it’ll only get harder. No more leaving town and counting on the fact no one talks to each other.” Cory paused. “I’ll text you when I arrive; we can decide where to eat then. Have fun with Angie and her guy.”

“Thanks, Cory,” Richie said gratefully, and disconnected the call.

The Friday afternoon traffic meant Richie took twenty minutes to cross the city to the restaurant where he was meeting Angie. He parked his motorcycle in the restaurant’s lot, noting it had free parking with validation, and took a ticket. The restaurant was not one Richie had ever eaten at before, but he was optimistic for the food; he had yet to eat at a bad Indian restaurant in the city.

The restaurant appeared to be one of the larger restaurants in the city; the lobby was half full of patrons waiting to be seated, and he didn’t see Angie at first. Immortal presence whispered along his skin, and he breathed out.

“Richie, over here!” Angie called, and he turned to his left, seeing her in an alcove he hadn’t realized existed.

Angie had pulled her shoulder-length black hair into a simple plait; silver stud earrings graced her ears. The brightly patterned short-sleeved dress she wore was demure; Richie suspected she, like him, had come straight from work. She was the office manager for the local branch of a nationwide in-home and corporate office cleaning service.

They exchanged hugs. “You look beautiful,” Richie told her sincerely. “New dress?”

She nodded. “Five-dollar find at Nordstrom Rack. Zalim went to the restroom; he should be back. Did you have a good week at work?”

“Yeah, and I just found out a friend is coming to town,” Richie told her. He turned as Angie did, seeing a man with deep brown skin coming towards them. The stranger had neatly combed black hair, a mustache, and a square face. He wore a blue-gray pinstriped sport coat over a white dress shirt, jeans, and black dress shoes. The attire emphasized his rectangular build and looked as though it had been chosen to help draw the eye upward. He was about an inch taller than Angie, which made him shorter than Richie.

Richie relaxed as he realized whoever the strange immortal was, it was not this man. Seacouver was a big enough city that it had its share of immortals living in it. Richie didn’t know them all and didn’t expect he ever would. Unlike Mac, who had consciously tried to know all the immortals in the city, Richie preferred to remain distant. He sent a silent prayer that whoever the strange immortal was, they were someone who only wanted to have dinner and not a fight.

Angie quickly made the introductions. “Zalim, this is my best friend, Richie Ryan. Richie, this is my boyfriend, Zalim Tipanis.”

They shook hands just as the buzzer in Angie’s hand lit up.

“Our table is ready.”

Once seated, Richie took the time to get to know Angie’s boyfriend. Zalim was a digital animator for a world-famous entertainment company; their offices were in the same corporate tower as Angie’s employer. A chance conversation in the elevator had led to dating. They had been dating six weeks. Richie’s first impression of Zalim was of a man deeply smitten; from the way Angie was acting, Angie was not nearly as love-struck.

Once they were seated, Richie asked, “On a scale of ‘I’ll need milk’ to ‘I’ll to regret this both now and later when I go the bathroom,’ how spicy do you want your food? Angie and I usually share when we eat Indian food, and we usually go with two or three stars, depending on if we know the place.”

“Friends of mine run this restaurant,” Zalim revealed. “They cook the way their mother taught them back in Bangladesh.”

“Oh, good,” Angie said happily. “That means I’ll love it and hate it at the same time.”

Both men chuckled. “Let’s go with two stars,” Richie said. “And if you want something spicier, Zalim, I’d be willing to try it.”

Zalim nodded, pleased. To Richie, he added, “I was the first in my family to immigrate to America from India. It took me a decade to make it back to my hometown; by then, almost everyone I knew was dead.”

“It’s hard to go back,” Richie agreed. “I’ve been lucky that way.” Wanting to keep the dinner conversation light, Richie turned the topic to the projects Zalim was working on, wanting to get a better sense of the man. By the end of dinner, he was convinced if he was interested in dating Zalim, he had a strong shot of doing so – but he wasn’t, and he felt bad for Angie.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter because I'm sick but wanted to post this while I was still mostly awake.

_Saturday, April 6_

Feeling reenergized by his workout at the gym, Richie moved through his house. He had taken off his boots and motorcycle gear, leaving them in the mudroom. He hung his sword on its customary brackets by the front door and heard someone step onto his porch. He looked out the window by the door and saw someone he recognized.

Opening the door, he let Angie inside, surprising her. “Heard you walk up,” he explained.

She chuckled and glanced down at the combat-style boots she was wearing. “Yeah, these aren’t exactly silent, are they?”

“You only wear those when you want to kick ass,” Richie noted as she sat down on the couch. “Hope it's not mine today. Everything okay? You look worried.”

Angie looked at Richie. “You said a friend was visiting, and then we got distracted by dinner. Who’s this friend, and is he like you?”

“His name is Cory Raines, and yes, I’ve known him since '96.” Unconsciously, Richie softened, thinking of the other immortal.

Angie bit her lip. “You light up when you say his name. He must be someone special.”

“He’s not the guy I met back then. He was an asshole then, and I wouldn’t have given him the time of day,” Richie said, realizing his friend was concerned. “He’s different now. For one thing, we’re talking, instead of making bad assumptions about each other like the first time we met. If he gets the job he’s interviewing for here in Seacouver, I’ll introduce you to him. But I haven’t dated one of us in decades; the two times I did, they both wanted to kill me. Not sure if I want to try again.”

“But then you wouldn’t have to lie about immortality or the Game or anything,” Angie pointed out. “Or worry about aging.”

“Angie, I know who Cory loves, and it’s a gorgeous thief named Amanda. Cory’s just a friend.”

“Richie, if he’s interviewing for a job here, he’s probably counting on that friendship if he gets it.”

“Yeah, and what’s the problem with that, Angie? Why are you so worried?” Richie took a seat on the coffee table and grasped his friend’s hands. “I haven’t seen you this concerned about my love life since I told you I was dating Jerry and wouldn’t tell him about immortality.”

“Jerry was an idiot. I kept hoping he’d realize you weren’t as enamored of him as he was of you. But – this Cory – how old is he?”

“Old enough to have been hanged for not being straight,” Richie hedged. “Listen, if this is about Zalim, he’s not like me.”

“I broke up with Zalim last night.”

Richie blinked. “Why? I liked him. He seemed decent.”

“Because he wouldn’t stop talking about you, and I was lying naked in bed next to him.” Indignant, Angie looked at Richie. “I mean, I’m not chopped liver. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was like you.”

“He’s not, if that’s what you were worried about.”

Angie was silent a moment. “Zalim apologized when I yelled at him for being so fascinated. He acted like he had a crush on you.”

Richie winced. “I got that impression too; thought it was just maybe my imagination.” He paused. “Is that all you’re worried about?”

Angie let out a breath. “I… don’t want this Cory guy to rip your heart out. Especially if he’s like you. That means you might see him around your social circle for a long time.”

“Why are you so sure I’m interested in Cory?”

Angie gave him a look. “Richie, how long have I known you? Time was when you couldn’t stop talking about the new love in your life, but now you get quiet. You haven’t been interested in anyone I’ve introduced you to since Jerry. When I told Thomas you picked no one up at Nowhere, he told me you’ve been abstaining from picking anyone the last several times the two of you have gone out, which usually either means someone’s caught your interest or you’ve burned out on casual hookups again. He said to tell you Dave Johnson’s been asking him for your number. Dave’s been your go-to guy when you aren’t with anyone and want something casual. He said he’s tried to text you, but you blocked his number. He called me last week and wanted me to give him your number and I refused. I figured you had your reasons.” She studied him. “Like maybe being tired of Dave’s good-time guy?”

Richie looked away briefly, aware she had figured him out. “Yeah. Plus, Dave’s such a drama queen. Everything I say or do takes on seventeen shades of meaning and I’m sick of figuring out what is the right one just so I can have a fun time in bed.”

“What’s different about Cory?”

“He makes me laugh, he’s handsome, and he’s picky about who he calls a friend. He has a reputation for being a prankster and a thief, but a lot of it is old gossip, no longer true. He’s been working as a security consultant for a firm in Alexandria, Virginia.” He pulled out his phone and showed her the selfie Cory had sent him. Cory was dressed in a blue shirt under a matching plaid shirt under a down vest, and he’d captioned it with, ‘still not warm enough in this freezing office.’

After reading the caption, Angie chuckled. “He’s pretty and just your type. You like your men taller and broader than you.”

Richie bit his lip. “I don’t want to push my luck. He’s a force of nature, Angie. I’m glad to call him a friend and if something more happens, I’ll going to be grateful for whatever it is.”

Angie looked at him. “You have a chance to love someone who could love you for the next century and you’ll settle for what crumbs he’ll throw your way?” she asked, incredulous.

“Angie, I don’t really think about centuries of living,” Richie countered. “I’m still working on living to be a hundred. I don’t want to be disappointed if all I get is Cory’s friendship.”

“But if he offered you the chance to be his lover, would you say yes?”

“Depends on what his expectations were,” Richie admitted. “I don’t want to make my life complicated. We already have friends in common.”

Angie wrinkled her nose at that. “I suppose if you lived long enough, the pool of people who know you and everyone else shrinks.” She took a deep breath. “I know we talked about this years ago, but – I got to thinking about it again. We’re not kids anymore. Why aren’t we dating?”

“Because what you want in a lover and what I want are two different things,” Richie reminded her. “You like more pain than I’m willing to inflict on anyone I love.”

Angie flushed. “I forgot I told you that.”

He reached over and grasped her hand briefly. “You scared me when you showed up with those bruises. I thought someone had hurt you without your consent.”

“My hero,” she teased him lightly. “You know I’m a big believer in, and practitioner of, safe, sane, and consensual.”

“I know, but it still doesn’t sit right with me. Maybe it’s because I associate being tied up and bruises with all those times I’ve been kidnapped.”

“You’re the only person I know who’s lost count of something like that,” Angie noted, shaking her head. “But at least you don’t think I’m crazy for wanting it.”

Richie let out a breath, aware this was an old argument between them. “It’s your life, Angie. I can only hope you meet a guy who treats you like the queen you deserve to be treated as.”

“Here's hoping the Universe is listening to you,” Angie said, smiling. “Promise me you’ll let me meet this Cory?”

“If he stays in Seacouver, I will. You’re too important to me to not do that.”

“Love you, Richie.” Angie hugged him. “And thanks.” She left shortly thereafter.

The conversation made Richie restless. Needing to prove he could satisfy his hunger for another man and didn’t need Cory, Richie dressed up for the club, intent on picking up someone. When he realized the men he had targeted resembled the older immortal, Richie changed strategies, deliberately finding someone who didn’t look like Cory. The resulting sex was fast and furious, in the shadows of the alley behind the club, and left Richie with the lingering taste of dissatisfaction.

Unwilling to go home just yet, Richie rode around the city, finally stopping in one of the city’s parks, which was known as a photography location, since it gave a perfect shot of the skyscrapers downtown. He dismounted his bike and stood, looking out at the night scene, the moon at a perfect angle to the city. His phone was in his hands, the camera lining up the shot, and he froze before he snapped the picture. Not letting himself analyze it, he sent the picture to Cory, captioning it with, “Want to see this with you in person.”

He then forced himself to go home and shut off his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback adored!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by Carly Rae Jepsen's "Higher".

_Sunday, April 7_

_Nice photo_ , Cory texted _. I’m at the Seacouver Hotel downtown. Meet you at The Japanese Duke at 7:30? I’m in the mood for sushi. Judging from the reviews, it looks good_.

After texting yes, Richie looked up the restaurant and found it was two blocks from Cory’s hotel. It didn’t take him long to get downtown, but he wound up parking in a lot four blocks away from the restaurant, since everything closer was ridiculously expensive or full. He took a moment after parking and dismounting from his motorcycle to pack his helmet into his backpack, brush his hair, and swap out his motorcycle boots for the black leather sneakers he kept in the backpack so he could walk more comfortably.

Immortal presence filled his head the closer he got to the restaurant, and he found Cory waiting for him in the lobby. Cory wore a lightweight black leather jacket, jeans, and the same cowboy boots Richie remembered. Seeing Richie, Cory closed the distance between them and hugged him.

“Hey, Cory,” Richie said. He was pleased by his welcome and equally relieved to see that his joy in seeing the older man was returned. “Long flight?”

“Turbulence and screaming children,” Cory rued. “One of these days I’ll remember to bring noise-cancelling headphones on cross-country flights.”

“Then you’d miss out on something, and you strike me as someone who wants to know what’s going on,” Richie noted.

Cory chuckled ruefully. “Yeah. I still haven’t stopped being fascinated by airline travel.”

Richie grinned. “I can imagine. Did you want to sit at the sushi bar or at a table?”

“As much fun as the bar can be, I want to be able to talk to you and look at you while I do it,” Cory said.

Richie nodded his understanding as the hostess approached them. Once they were seated, Cory asked, “Do you like sake?”

“Still trying to decide if I like it,” Richie admitted, “so I keep trying it.”

Once their server approached, Cory asked for a bottle of sake to split. Then he turned to Richie. “Have you done _omakase_ before, where you tell the chef how much you want to spend and let them decide what to serve you?”

“Not in a long time,” Richie admitted. “I did it once by myself about five years ago, but it wasn’t the same. I’m game if you are, as long as we don’t get crazy.”

“Don’t worry about the cost. I’m feeling lucky and hungry,” Cory told him. To their server, he gave a midrange dollar amount, adding, “No raw oysters please.”

“Of course, sir,” the woman said, smiling. “I’ll bring out your sake shortly.”

“Why no raw oysters?” Richie questioned.

“Might not kill us permanently, but it’s not a fun way to die,” Cory said simply.

“I’ll remember that.” He considered the dollar amount Cory had cited and noted, “Either you’re hungry or you’re that confident you’ll get the job.”

“If not, I’ll get something else,” Cory said. “Like I told you: I’m not broke, Richie. I have no outstanding debts beyond what I owe for utilities. I have enough money I can live without a job for a while. I’d just rather spend that money on helping people in need. I learned a long time ago how to live within my means, but that doesn’t mean I don’t occasionally splurge on myself and my friends.” He flashed Richie a smile. “This feels like a special occasion to me.”

Richie returned the smile and nodded. “Overspending what I had and not understanding how credit cards work contributed to me being homeless, so now I’m really diligent about budgeting. I usually rotate between helping out at the food bank and helping with one of the charities here that supports needy families by giving them school supplies, socks, and toiletries.” He leaned forward, only to abort the movement when he saw their server set their drinks on the table. He waited until the woman had left before raising his glass. “To new beginnings.”

Cory completed the toast, and they sipped the fruity, mellow, alcoholic wine.

“Since you’re here, I have to ask,” Richie began. “Why Seacouver? You could be anywhere.”

“You’re here,” Cory said easily, smiling. “Most of my friends are scattered to the winds. Like you told me: been a while since I’ve been with another of our kind. I’d like to get to know you and see what trouble we can get into while remaining within the law.” He grinned mischievously. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Richie met his gaze. Angie’s conversation, and the less-than-satisfying pickup, had only reinforced his convictions. He wanted everything Cory had to give him. If the look Cory was giving him meant what he thought he did, the opportunity for more was at hand. “And if I said I didn’t want to be just friends?”

Cory’s eyes widened. He swallowed hard.

“If I’m misinterpreting or assuming–” Richie broke into the silence.

“No,” Cory said hastily. “Just – damn. I didn’t think I was that obvious.”

Richie shrugged. “I have lunch with one of my best friends every other Saturday. Angie pointed out I was fascinated. Got me to thinking how much you and I have been talking, and why you’d uproot yourself from Alexandria and the family you have nearby.”

“I haven’t told Matthew yet. I want it to be a _fait accompli_ before I do.”

“I won’t be telling him,” Richie returned evenly. “And for the record, Cory – when I don’t mean something, you’ll know.” He flashed a smile. “Angie says she can tell because my smile changes.” He paused before proving it by smoothly saying, “Oysters are such an aphrodisiac; I’m so disappointed we won’t have any tonight.” He leaned in, with just the right disappointment and regret in his body language.

Cory stared at him. “Okay, that’s a neat trick,” he said admiringly. “If I didn’t know you, or haven’t been a con artist myself, I’d totally buy you meant that.”

Pleased by that, Richie smiled, more genuinely this time. “Coming from you, that’s a huge compliment. But it leads me to ask: why me?”

“Because you know what I can do,” Cory admitted, “and I’m tired of having to pretend that Someone Right Now is good enough. I’m also over my love of Amanda. She hasn’t bothered to stay in touch, and I thought we had something worth keeping – centuries of friendship, if nothing else.”

Not surprised by that answer, Richie nodded. “She fell in love with someone who became one of us at her hand. Nick walked away from her rather than put up with her bullshit. Last I heard, he was determined to stay as far away from her as he could. It made Amanda cling to someone who would forgive her for everything.”

“Which is Duncan or someone not one of us,” Cory noted, dismayed. “That explains the radio silence. She knows I think Duncan’s a little too willing to overlook her faults, and her picks for mortal lovers get freaked out when I show up.”

“Because you prank them to prove to Amanda they’re not worth her time?” Richie guessed.

Cory feigned shock, pressing a hand to his chest. “Would I do that to them?”

At Richie’s snort, Cory grinned briefly. “I make sure it’s a prank they’ll survive, mind you.” He sighed. “Well. Not to put a damper on things, but at least I know why Amanda’s been avoiding me. Thanks.”

“Hey, for what it’s worth: I only know because she called me, desperate for someone to help out Nick and convince him our life is worth living. He wasn’t willing to spend the rest of his days on holy ground – he’d gotten fed up with the priest who’d given him refuge – and he didn’t know how to fight that well with a sword.”

“Did you take up the call?”

Richie grimaced. “For what it was worth. I told Nick he had the right idea by staying away from her and hooked him up with someone Connor recommended. I didn’t think I had enough time to teach anyone how not to fuck up being immortal and keep my job. As it was, I had to invent a two-week family emergency because who Connor recommended was not in Paris then.”

“Matthew thinks of me as his son because he was only fifty years old when he taught me,” Cory revealed. “Made me determined not to do the same thing.”

“Have you taught anyone?”

Cory nodded. “A few. No one still living, though. I’ve been accused of not caring who wins the Game.”

“Why not?”

Cory shrugged. “Not likely to be me. If it’s one of my more noble friends, more power to them. Until then, I’ll keep on living and enjoying every second I can, because God knows it’s been way longer for me than I ever expected.”

“When I was younger,” Richie said carefully, “I got the notion I couldn’t be friends with any of us. I had to be the one to get them before they got me. It landed me with a reputation I can’t shake, even now.”

“Matthew reminded me of that when I got back to Alexandria. He was worried you were after my head.” Cory lifted his chin slightly as he added, “I told him you were a victim of public opinion, like me, and you were flirting. He didn’t believe me.”

Richie grinned. “I might’ve given him the wrong impression on purpose. I thought he was being too hard on Ceirdwyn for being alone and enjoying not having a husband.”

Cory made a face. “Matthew’s had a crush on her for centuries. It’s sweet and pathetic because neither of them will make a move on the other. I may have to lock them in a room at this rate.”

Fascinated, Richie leaned forward. “Do you think it would work?”

“No, but it’d be fun to try,” Cory said, grinning.

Their server arrived with their first course. She spent a moment explaining the dish before leaving.

Both men took bites. The flavor and texture of the fish was delicate and firm, with a subtle, fresh taste. “This is good,” Richie noted. Cory echoed his sentiment.

Over the next several courses, the two men chatted at length. Richie didn’t remember what they talked about, only a general impression of being conscious of Cory’s laughter, the warmth of his smile, and his intense flirtation. What they ate coalesced into a blur of deliciousness; the sake a nice counterpoint to the fish. The room narrowed to Cory, and how he was focused on Richie.

It had been a long time since Richie had relaxed with another immortal. It had been longer since he’d been flirted with by an expert. He’d forgotten the thrill of trying to up the ante, of seeing what would provoke a reaction. By the time they ate dessert, Richie knew one thing: he didn’t want to go home without Cory. Cory seemed to be of the same mind.

“Come to my room,” he invited, once they stepped out of the restaurant. “I want to strip you down and hear you moan my name.”

“Who says you won’t be doing the same with my name?” Richie challenged.

In reply, Cory kissed him, drawing it out until Richie nearly forgot they were standing on a public street. Satisfied, Cory drew back. “Because I’m older and more experienced,” Cory said, grinning.

“Then let’s get there before I change my mind,” Richie taunted, unwilling to show how much Cory’s kiss had unbalanced him.

Getting to Cory’s room seemed to take an eternity. Once there, time seemed to freeze as Cory took his time undressing Richie, kissing every inch of exposed flesh until Richie forgot everything but the man who held him.

“Cory, please,” Richie begged breathlessly.

“We got all night,” Cory reminded him. “In hurry to be somewhere?”

“Want my cock in your ass or your cock in my ass, I’ll take either,” Richie pleaded.

“Choices, choices,” Cory teased as he undressed, dropping his clothes to the side of the bed. “Fortunately for you, Richie, I do like a man who says what he wants.” He took a moment to dig a tube of lube out of his suitcase and drop it on the nightstand.

He then held Richie a moment, kissing him lavishly. Richie returned the kiss with enthusiasm, enjoying being held. It was rare a lover took that moment, and it calmed Richie’s nerves even as his desire for Cory ratcheted higher.

“What do you want?” Richie asked, reluctantly breaking the kiss.

“Want to suck you off and get you ready,” Cory told him, reaching down between them to feel Richie’s cock. “Want to feel this wide thing inside me, stretching me open. I’ll get myself ready so I can just mount you and you can thrust up.”

Richie shivered at that image. “Then I’m all yours.”

Cory kissed him again, then moved downward, licking and nibble at Richie’s nipples.

“Damn it, Cory!” Richie gasped, arching into the touch.

Cory grinned and repeated the action before moving downward again, loving the way Richie was responding to him. Richie rewarded his efforts by breathlessly telling him how much he liked what he was doing. Heat flushed Richie’s chest, matching his red hair, and he kept a hand on Cory’s shoulder, gently encouraging him.

Once Richie was hard, Cory took a moment to lubricate Richie’s cock, then stretched himself, taking care to show off what he was doing. Richie moaned at the show and promised himself he’d take the time to stretch Cory next time, because not touching the other man was maddening. He said as much to Cory, who chuckled huskily.

“Promises, promises,” Cory teased. “What’s a guy like me to do?”

“Fuck me,” Richie pleaded, needing him.

“As you wish,” Cory said as he mounted him.

Both men groaned at the first contact. Richie fought the urge for release, reminding himself that he had better control than that, and he didn’t want to disappoint Cory.

“God, Richie, so good,” Cory swore as he maneuvered himself until Richie’s cock was seated inside his ass. He paused a moment, adjusting to the intrusion as he breathed out, then began to piston himself.

Richie moaned as their bodies met in the age-old rhythm. He had been with several other lovers, but no one felt like Cory. He could see Cory trying his best to hold on to control, and pulled him down, forcing him more onto his cock. He wanted to make the older man lose it, wanted him to feel the same heady passion surging through Richie. He held no pretense he would be the best lover Cory had ever had; all he could strive for was to be memorable enough for Cory to want more.

Cory groaned, and Richie took advantage of that to thrust up, loving the way Cory’s ass felt around his cock and the look of intense concentration on Cory’s face. Desire rose like a sheet of fire, engulfing both men in its heat until all they knew was the pleasurable feel of each other. Ecstasy had never felt like this. Locked in the battle to bring the other off, the world narrowed to the feel of skin against skin, the musky scent of sweat and sex, and the sound of their voices as they gasped and cried out half-formed thoughts.

Sensing Cory was close, Richie reached between them to stroke Cory’s cock firmly, shocking Cory into a wordless cry of pleasure and causing him to orgasm. That triggered Richie’s release.

Spent, they lay in each other’s arms, breathing heavily. Coming back to earth after such heights, Cory kissed Richie lazily. Richie smiled, reading the gratitude and affection in the gesture.

He breathed in, enjoying the moment, but aware he needed to tell his lover something important.

“I should probably mention,” Richie said conversationally, “my refraction time’s that of a nineteen-year-old’s.”

Cory’s eyes widened. He felt Richie stiffen inside him and groaned. Grinning, Richie rolled him over, so he was now under Richie. “I’ll be gentle this round,” he promised.

Cory whimpered with pleasure. “God, Richie, please don’t stop,” he begged.

Richie dropped a kiss on Cory’s lips. “Not in my plans.”

The night passed in a haze of sexual pleasure. It was early morning before Richie finally left Cory’s room, needing to go home so he could change for his work day.

An hour after he arrived at work, the company’s front desk receptionist, Maura, called him up to the front desk.

“What’s up?” he asked her.

“Delivery for you,” she said, and handed over the vase of roses. The roses were all varied colors, set in a purple vase.

Taking the vase, he checked the card that came with the roses. It said, “Thanks for last night. Looking forward to next time. – Cory.”

Richie grinned, and took a moment to inhale the rich fragrance. He hadn’t had flowers delivered from a lover in ten years. The last time had been from a girlfriend who had thought it only fair that if she expected flowers, she needed to give them too.

“Who’s it from?” Maura asked.

“My boyfriend,” Richie told her.

Maura shook her head. “Where do you find men who give you flowers?” she asked. “My husband doesn’t even remember our anniversary, and we’ve only been married two years.”

Richie just smiled and walked back to his desk, setting the vase to the left of his dual monitors. He took a photo of the flowers on his desk and sent it to Cory.

 _Thank you for the roses,_ he wrote. _They smell amazing. No one’s sent me flowers in ten years._

 _You’re welcome, Richie_ , Cory texted. He then followed it up with a selfie of himself dressed in a navy pinstripe suit. Richie marveled at how good he looked in it, and knew if they were in the same room, he’d be hard-pressed not to want to take his time peeling him out of it.

 _Gorgeous,_ Richie told him. _And very professional._

_Was thinking of you when I dressed this morning. Miss you already. Have a good rest of your day, Richie. I’m going to my interview shortly. They have me scheduled on the evening flight back to Alexandria. I don’t think we’ll have time to meet up, given where you work and where I must drop off the rental car. I’ll text you when I get out of the interview and let you know how I think it went._

_Good luck_ , Richie wrote, and then set his phone to ‘do not disturb’ so he could focus on work. The vase of roses kept catching his eye as he moved between his screens, and the scent filled his cubicle. His coworkers, too, added to the distraction, asking him about them; the consensus was mild envy.

The roses didn’t last the week, however, but the feeling they inspired lingered, made Richie feel like he hadn’t just been another anonymous fuck for Cory. It made Richie want to be with Cory again, and even as they continued to correspond via text and videocalls, he planned how to make that happen.

* * *

_Saturday, April 16_

The bar had been open mere minutes when Richie stepped into it. “You sounded worried on the message you left me,” he told Joe as he sat down at the bar. “Everything okay?

In reply, Joe set down a tablet that held a photo of Cory kissing Richie outside the Japanese restaurant.

Richie stared at it, stunned at the look on their faces. In that moment, both had forgotten everything but each other. One part of him felt amazed at such naked feeling; the other, more paranoid part, realized how vulnerable that made them. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and met Joe’s gaze. “And?”

“And you’ve just blown Cory’s Chronicle wide open, kid,” Joe told him. “Congratulations. You just confirmed a long-held theory on his. Unless this was a prank on his part.”

“Not a prank, and I won’t apologize if that’s what you’re looking for,” Richie said evenly.

Joe sighed. “Not looking for one. You love who you love. But have you two thought about who will give you the most grief over your relationship?”

“Does it matter?” Richie countered. “The only two people I know who might care aren’t here. Amanda hasn’t given Cory much thought since Nick showed up in her life. Cory told me he hasn’t heard from her in decades, and he’s tired of trying to figure out when he fits into her life. As for the other person? Mac hasn’t thought about me in twenty years, Joe. I’m willing to bet the only reason he comes back to Seacouver is because whoever he’s been with has either told him to go away or is dead. I’ve always been a second thought. Has he even called you, check to see if you’re doing okay?”

Joe grimaced at that. “You might be onto something there.” He met Richie’s gaze. “Is being with Cory making you happy?”

“Yeah,” Richie said with a nod. “And is there any chance I can get a copy of that photo? It will bug Cory that he won’t be able to figure out who took that photo.”

“I did,” Joe admitted. At Richie’s look of surprise, the old Watcher rolled his eyes. “Not like I can’t work a telephoto lens, kid. And the two of you were too wrapped up in each other to notice anyone for a good three minutes. Wanted to give you a chance to see it before it became official.” Joe offered Richie a smile before taking the tablet and sending the photo to Richie’s number.

“Thanks, Joe. I thought you were Watching Mac, though.”

Joe shook his head. “Haven’t been, not for the last fifteen years. Headquarters decided Mac needed someone with working legs to keep up with him and reassigned me to you. They wanted to force me out entirely and I, uh, made some convincing counterarguments.”

Richie snorted. “Uh huh, sure, Joe. But as that’s a story you’ll probably tell me only if you’re drunk, I’ll ask you something else instead. Are you okay with me being with Cory?”

“He’ll either break your heart, or he’ll make you wish you’d never known what it was to love him. That’s a fine line, Richie. The second one might make you want to love no one else the same way again.”

“I’ll take my chances, Joe,” Richie replied. “You know I’ve always gambled on love.”

Joe chuckled softly. “Yeah, so you have, even when other people tried to tell you otherwise.”

Richie grinned. “Speaking of love – a little birdie told me you might be dating again?”

“No, that was not a date,” Joe protested, and Richie laughed. “That was a setup!”

Amused, Richie settled into hear the tale.

* * *

_Friday, April 26_

“Have you heard from the company you applied to?” Richie asked Cory three weeks later during one of their evening video calls.

“Yeah,” Cory said sourly. “One of their form emails thanking me for applying but I wasn’t selected.” He looked at Richie. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Richie said swiftly.

“I want to be there with you.”

“Don’t quit your job just to be with me,” Richie cautioned him. “I won’t be happy, and neither will you. I can’t see you sitting around this house doing nothing, can you?”

Cory chuckled ruefully. “No. That way leads me to wonder what places I can steal from.”

Richie grinned. “Which you do anyway.”

“Which I do anyway,” Cory agreed, “but at least when I’m getting paid, I’m less likely to execute some half-assed plan. It feels good to give money to a charity without worrying about marked bills and arrest warrants.”

Amused, Richie turned to the plan he had. “Are you doing anything for Memorial Day? I could fly out there on the twenty-third and spend the weekend with you, fly back on Tuesday. I have a lot of vacation I haven’t used, and my boss reminded me I should use it.”

Startled and pleased, Cory said, “I’d love for you to be here.”

Richie grinned. “I’ll buy the tickets tonight then.”

No sooner than Richie had hung up than his phone rang again. “I want to hear all about this guy Angie says you’re seeing,” Thomas said. “No excuses; you’ve been putting me off, which tells me this guy’s important.”

Richie sighed, aware he couldn’t ignore Thomas forever. “Meet me at Le Bistro in a half an hour,” naming his favorite French restaurant in the city.

The popular restaurant was busy, but they were able to find seats at a table in the bar. Once they had placed their drink orders, Thomas leaned in. “I’m hurt you didn’t tell me, Richie.”

Richie winced. “It’s been less than a month, Thomas.”

“Not from the way you’ve been acting.” He thanked the server who brought their wine.

Both men paused their conversation to order dinner. Once that was complete and the server had left, Richie replied, “Cory showed up back in February – the night we celebrated your promotion. I had to help him out of the trunk of a car.”

“Angie doesn’t know that part.”

Richie shook his head and flashed him a smile. “You know how I’d rather let her have the romantic version.”

Thomas returned the grin. “The one where he showed up on your door, invited you to dinner and into his bed, and fell in love with your youthful energy and charm?”

“Something like that, yes,” Richie agreed.

“You know she’s already figured out you rescued him from something. Better reassure her it wasn’t because of another like you.”

Richie grimaced. “It wasn’t.”

“And?” Thomas prompted. “So far I’m not hearing any redeeming qualities.”

Richie raised an eyebrow. “Since when have you cared about redeeming qualities?”

Thomas shrugged elegantly. “Since running into our mutual ex Dave Johnson reminded me you told me I was overdue for someone more into a real relationship, one that meant someone cared about whether you were going through the flu or an exciting week at work.”

Sitting back, Richie sipped his wine and debated how to answer his friend. “Cory has a reputation for pranking people and not taking life seriously. He has a deep compassion for the poor and the underprivileged. He’s lived a long time being Robin Hood, but the last decade he’s channeled that into a career working for security consulting firms. He says it’s nice not to have to worry about being arrested or giving marked bills to charities.”

Thomas studied Richie a moment. “He’s like you, then.”

Richie nodded. “He’s much older and could care less who wins or loses in the Game, with a few exceptions here and there.”

“Can you really do that?” Thomas asked, concerned. “That guy who kidnapped me and Angie thought you were one of the big players. I remember him bragging about how much stronger he’d be once he had your head.”

Grimacing at the reminder, Richie replied, “Cory claims he doesn’t care about the Game. I’ve no reason to believe otherwise, given what else I’ve been told about him.”

“But if it’s you under threat, what will he do?” Thomas asked logically. “Can he fight?”

“I don’t doubt he can,” Richie replied. “I know who taught him and Matthew’s not someone who would let a student go without knowing how to fight.”

Their server arrived with their entrees. Richie stuck a fork in the crust of his pastry-encased stew to let it cool a bit while Thomas marveled at the size of the lamb shank they had served him.

“Thought lamb was supposed to be a small animal,” Thomas remarked.

“Clearly not what you were thinking of, huh?”

“Hey, it’ll make good leftovers for breakfast.” Thomas grinned. Like Richie, his plate was steaming hot, and he let it cool. “But back to what we were discussing. What’s his full name?”

“Cory Raines,” Richie said, and, predicting Thomas’s next question, pulled out his phone. He flipped it to the photo of Cory dressed for the interview, then passed it to Thomas.

Thomas studied the photo a long moment before shaking his head and passing the phone back to Richie. “He’s gorgeous, and he looks like he was born to wear that suit.” He took a bite of his lamb and chewed it thoroughly before adding, “How sure are you he’s not bored and looking for someone fun?”

Richie took a deep breath. “Because I’ve seen him when he was bored and looking for fun. That’s how we met the first time, back in '96. He ran me over as a prank.”

Thomas blinked. “And now you believe he’s changed?”

“I believe you aren’t going to hook up with Dave as soon as we’re done having dinner. Why can’t I believe he’s changed as well?”

Thomas chuckled ruefully. “Good point. You gonna eat your dinner or is still scalding hot?”

Richie scooped out a bite with his fork and studied the steaming mass. “What do you think?” He set his fork down, unwilling to risk burning his mouth.

Thomas laughed. “Yeah, we’ll be here a while. Is Cory here or is he elsewhere?”

“He lives in Alexandria, but he wants to move here, be with me.”

“Never had a guy move cross-country for me,” Thomas noted. “Is he going to move in with you right away?”

Richie shook his head. “No, I don’t think so, though I should ask him so I know.”

“Don’t let him move in with you,” Thomas recommended. “It’s different when you’re dating long-distance; you can show off the best parts of you. When you’re local, you get a little closer, a little more real. When you’re moved in and it’s your house you want to escape, it gets a lot harder.”

“So says the man who hasn’t been in a steady relationship since I’ve known him,” Richie noted.

Thomas looked hurt for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Okay, I deserved that,” he admitted. “I should’ve told you sooner, given how open you’ve been with me the last seven years.”

Richie studied him, reading old grief in his face. “What was his name, and how long were you together?”

“His name was Adam Gunter, and we grew up together. He wasn’t interested in college, so he worked construction in high school, so by the time I started college, he was already working, earning good money as a roofer, not that he needed it. We’d dated in high school, but everyone thought we’d been together since we were kids. It wasn’t that big of a stretch for him to have an apartment. My parents wouldn’t let me move in with him my freshman year; they made me live on campus instead, so I’d know what the full on-campus life experience was like –” Thomas rolled his eyes “– even though I didn’t think I’d miss much. I moved with him as soon as my freshman year ended.” Thomas looked away briefly. “He was funny, smart, and proud of his roots – his family had ancestors who’d come over in the 1800s.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “He was of _the_ Gunter family?” Seven families, including the Gunters, had founded Seacouver and helped shape its wealth and politics; all but one still had living descendants.

Thomas grinned briefly. “Yeah. One of the reasons I learned how to dress rich and eat in fancy restaurants was because Adam’s mother refused to have her son associating with one of _those_ people. My mother apparently told her that if she didn’t want that happening, she’d better teach us both how to pass as better.”

“Your mother is still a pistol,” Richie noted. “What happened to Adam?”

“He hated using safety lines,” Thomas said bitterly. “Thought they were for cowards, for people who’d never gone rock climbing, for –”

“Anyone but him,” Richie finished.

“Yeah. Company he worked for prided itself on a good safety record, but they also had a rep for taking on projects no one else would, either – like the roofs of churches and higher-story residential, where safety lines and harnesses aren’t just for insurance compliance. I’d just gotten promoted to an architect from an intern after a year of working my ass off, proving myself and getting my professional certification. Adam was called in to take a shift for a guy who’d partied too hard the night before, on the re-roofing of the Old Carolina Christian Church.”

Richie’s eyes widened. The Old Carolina Christian Church had had a massive, two-and-half-story tall fellowship hall as its core sanctuary, complete with a central skylight of stained glass. He could just picture what happened to Adam. “I’m sorry, Thomas. How long ago was this?”

“2007 – two years before I met you.” Thomas half-smiled. “You were my attempt at a rebound. After Adam’s death, his family killed the church and the roofing company, which is why that piece of land’s now a Wendy’s and a parking lot.”

Richie moved his plate aside so he could clasp his friend’s hand briefly. Aware Thomas did not like lingering in grief, he teased, “No wonder you have a soft spot for reckless idiots who think they’re immortal.”

Thomas barked a laugh at that. “Yeah, well, until I met you, I didn’t know there were exceptions to the rules. My point stands though – talk with this Cory guy, make sure he’s not all up in your space until you’re ready for him to be there. You don’t know how reckless he’ll be – Oh, wait, never mind, given how hard you’re laughing now, you already know that.”

“Thomas, I know his history. Trust me when I say there’s very little he won’t do, hasn’t done, or hasn’t at least contemplated trying.”

Thomas stared at Richie. “Okay, now I have to meet this man, because if he makes you grin like that, he’s exactly the guy you need. I’ve rarely seen you smile like that.” He narrowed his eyes. “I went for Mr. Right Now to deal with my grief. You buckled down on serious. Who did you lose, Richie?”

Richie shook his head. “It’s not who I lost,” he insisted. “I had to grow up. I'm ten years older than you, remember? Like I told you a long time ago – racing motorcycles, picking shifts bartending, and traveling the world only sounds romantic.”

“Yeah, well, so does picking up strangers in bars,” Thomas noted. “If you’re with someone, that means I’d better get serious about who I’m seeing.”

“Just remember, you won’t make lasting relationships out of the people you hook up with.”

Thomas scowled. “Worked with you, didn’t it?”

Richie laughed. “Yeah, but we also didn’t meet in a bar, and we’re not in love.”

Thomas pressed a hand to his chest. “What, this isn’t a date?” he said, looking around as if in shock.

Richie laughed again. “No, you goof. I promise I’ll introduce you to Cory.”

“Don’t suppose he has a single, rich, gay friend or three?” Thomas asked hopefully.

Richie didn’t dignify that question with an answer, choosing instead to eat his pot pie.


	6. Chapter 6

_Wednesday, May 22_

Richie was packing for his trip when his phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, he smiled and answered the call, switching it to speaker so he could continue to pack while talking. “Hey, Joe. What’s up?” In the background, Richie could hear blues music under the sound of people talking and the distinct clink of glasses, which told Richie the old Watcher was at his pub.

“Thought you’d like to know Duncan’s back in town. He’s looking for you, asked me if I knew where to find you. I told him you don’t hang out much here anymore, but that I’d ask if you’d come here.”

Richie sighed and calculated when his flight would leave and how much time he had to spare. He didn’t hold Duncan responsible for leaving him homeless. Talking to a professional therapist and with Ceirdwyn and Connor had made Richie realize he had made a ton of assumptions, been reckless with money, and had not been prepared for reality. In the twenty years since he had rebuilt his life, Richie had not given Duncan much thought, beyond a vague wondering when he would return. He had convinced himself that Duncan had stopped caring.

“Do you know what he wants from me?”

“Be better if you heard from him,” Joe recommended. “I’d rather not play the telephone game with you two.”

Richie blew out a breath, reluctantly conceding the point. “Give me about a half hour,” Richie asked. “I have a few things I need to finish up and it’ll take me twenty minutes to get across town.”

“See you when you get here,” Joe agreed, sounding relieved.

* * *

Forty minutes later, Richie parked his motorcycle in the lot behind Joe’s. Joe’s had become a fixture in the neighborhood, which had been part of city’s revitalization efforts. Now the neighborhood was the latest hipster destination, and Joe’s was one of several pubs on the block.

Immortal presence, distinct for the way Richie had forgotten how strong Duncan’s was, greeted Richie before he even opened the door. Breathing through the sharp, bitter warning, Richie entered the pub through the back door. The pub looked to be about half full; signs posted on the walls told Richie that the scheduled live band had cancelled. Part of him was glad; it meant the place not going to be as busy as it normally would be on a Wednesday night, which would allow for more conversation.

He found Duncan near the front door, a half-full glass of whisky before him. For half a second, Richie was tempted to approach him from the back, but decided that would be too petty. He circled around a table instead so he could approach Duncan from the front.

Duncan looked relieved to see him and rose to offer him a hug. “Richie!”

“Hey, Mac,” Richie said, surprised to feel the surge of tangled emotions he hadn’t felt in years. Duncan had always represented a father figure to him; making him proud had been a driving mantra for Richie, especially after they had reconciled in the wake of the Dark Quickening. Willing to let the past go, Richie returned the hug easily.

Duncan’s grip tightened on him briefly before the two men separated and sat down.

“Miss me?” Richie teased, surprised to find that he _had_ missed the older immortal.

“Why didn’t you ever call me?” Duncan asked, bewildered. “I had to find out from Connor two weeks ago that you were still alive. Joe didn’t ever say anything.”

Richie shrugged. “Didn’t think of it, and it wasn’t like I asked them to not tell you.”

“I thought we were friends,” Duncan said, looking perturbed.

“I got in a tough situation and by the time I got out of it, I wasn’t in the mood to rehash any of our old arguments. Joe said you weren’t in Paris anymore, and I figured you’d eventually be back.” Richie gestured, palms up, underscoring his words. “Just didn’t figure you’d take two decades. Believed you didn’t care to know about me. I had to focus on my life, so I didn’t bother asking Connor what your current number was. Figured he’d tell you, if no one else, how to reach me, since he calls me once a month to make sure I’m still doing okay. Lately, it’s been more texting, since we’ve both agreed that works out better with the time zone differences.”

Duncan looked insulted. “I asked Connor multiple times if he had talked to you. He said no.”

Richie chuckled. “Haven’t you figured out your cousin can be deliberately obtuse and frustratingly literal? His answer was true at the time he said it.”

Duncan stared at him and groaned. “Damn it, that means every time I asked him, he was waiting for me to be more specific as to why I wanted to know. When I didn’t ask more open-ended questions, he figured I didn’t need to know any more about where and how you were.” He paused as a server approached their table and asked if they wanted anything to drink.

Richie ordered a seltzer with lime, more for the prop than out of thirst. “He and Ceirdwyn helped me a lot,” he offered.

Duncan blinked at that. “You’ve met Ceirdwyn?”

“Yeah, she and Connor were dating back in 2000.” Richie grinned at his former teacher’s shock. “And that’s exactly the look Ceirdwyn said you’d have.”

“I didn’t know,” Duncan said. “Now you have me thinking what else have I missed?”

Richie shrugged. “Been two decades since I saw you last; probably a lot if you haven’t been asking people the right questions.”

Duncan acknowledged that with a rueful nod.

“Are you planning on staying in Seacouver a while? Connor told me you’d gone back to MacLeod land to heal from the craziness that had been our lives the last five years, so I kept expecting you to show up after the turn of the century.”

Duncan nodded. “I fully intended to, but I got distracted and wound up in Tokyo. It was beautiful, but I realized it no longer fit me and what I wanted to do. I missed this city, and I was worried about you. Figured with the city growing again, it would be an appropriate time to open a dojo in one of the new neighborhoods and see where it goes from there.”

Richie nodded, not surprised. “West Village is your best bet for that. It’s being touted as the ‘suburb within the city’ and it’s where the new shopping and housing have been built in the last five years.”

Duncan looked startled. “It’s changed that much? I remember the West Village as where the abandoned, arson-damaged middle school was and where they were talking about putting low-income housing, because the six blocks around the school were all vacant lots.”

“City couldn’t make it work, so they sold the property to a developer, who really kickstarted a boom in reshaping existing neighborhoods and distributing low-income housing throughout the city so one neighborhood doesn’t get tagged as the ghetto. Developer took the property, bought up several of the surrounding blocks, and turned it all into a master-planned, ‘mini-downtown-slash-main-street’ mixed retail and shopping center, complete with its own police and fire stations, so it really feels like a proper neighborhood. There’s even a branch post office and a branch public library.”

“That’s amazing,” Duncan said, interested, and leaned forward. “How do you know about this?”

“I work for a multidisciplinary engineering firm that does a lot of housing and public agency work,” Richie told him, settling back in his chair. He watched surprise blossom on his former teacher’s face. “I’m a CAD designer and drafter.”

“That’s great, Richie!”

“And before you ask,” Richie continued, “no, I’m not available to teach or help with your dojo.”

Disappointment flashed across Duncan’s face. “Not even on Saturdays?”

“Sorry, Mac. I’d rather spend the time elsewhere, like helping distribute food at the food bank.” Richie took a breath and met the older man’s gaze. “Much as I’m glad to see you, I don’t want to repeat that whole experience of building a dojo from scratch. The first time was rough for both of us, especially since both of us were grieving. I was trying so hard to be a tough guy for you so you wouldn’t assume I couldn’t cut it. You could sit here and convince me it would be different this time, but my gut says it might be worse because I’d remember everything that happened in DeSalvo’s.”

Duncan flinched. Richie saw the regret he associated with the Dark Quickening flash across Duncan’s face.

Gently, Richie added, “I don’t hold a grudge over what happened, Mac. We play the cards we’re dealt in the Game. I would rather skip the part where we create a future by recreating the past and not learn a damned thing from it.”

Duncan squared his shoulders. “I came here thinking you might need my help, but you’ve managed without it. All anyone would tell me was that you were still in the Game, with a reputation for being dangerous.” He paused. “Are you hunting others still?”

Richie’s eyes widened as he realized the immortal gossip mill had worked overtime. “If I said yes, would you judge me for living my life?” he asked evenly.

“You could really hurt yourself that way,” Duncan said urgently, leaning forward as if he could physically convince Richie of his folly.

“Relax, Mac. I don’t fight unless I have to these days.” He sipped his drink. “Were you convinced I was in the same state I was back in 1996?”

“The rumors I heard implied that,” Duncan admitted. “They said you were taking on challenges meant for either me or Connor.”

“That’s been this city for the last two decades,” Richie pointed out. “They come hunting for a Highlander, refuse to take no for an answer, and challenge me. I don’t fight for you or Connor, if that’s what you’re worried about. I fight because they won’t leave me the fuck alone. One of them even followed me into one of my favorite nightclubs and caused a scene. I had to call the cops. When they released him, he came looking for me again.” Richie made a face. “Persistent asshole. I had him arrested three times before we fought.”

Looking relieved, Duncan sat back. “That means the gossip about you is old and out of date.”

Richie nodded shortly. “The biggest wave of headhunters was around the turn of the century, but another batch came through about ten years ago. Something about the end of the decade, I guess. I defended myself and tried to convince as many as I could that ‘it’s not an immortal life if one of us is dead.’”

“Were you successful?”

“Enough I don’t regret making that argument.” He leaned forward, curious about the look of concern on his former guardian’s face. “But that’s not the only thing you’re worried about.”

“Was I wrong for pushing you so hard to be more than a motorcycle racer?”

Richie shrugged his shoulders slightly. “I didn’t want to admit I was more terrified of sitting in a class learning something than racing motorcycles. Would you have believed me back then?”

A rueful chuckle met his words. “No. I would have told you you’d conquered other, harder challenges.”

“And that would’ve pissed me off. I did well in learning CAD because it’s visual – what you draw on the screen is a scale representation of the real thing. You need to pay attention to the details or what you drew will be all wrong for actual size.”

Understanding dawned on Mac’s face. “And I was pushing you to stop racing motorcycles and go to college without remembering how Tessa helped you get your GED, trading welding, cooking, and French lessons for sitting with you and helping you learn the material you needed to pass the test.”

Richie nodded. “I would’ve never learned the math and science stuff if she hadn’t showed me how they applied. I still think of fractions in terms of measuring cups.”

“I’m sorry I forgot how difficult it was for you to learn all that. Do you enjoy the work?”

“I love it. I work for a small firm just east of downtown; they have a supportive, positive culture. My coworkers think I won the genetic lottery for looking young, so no one thinks twice about how I look versus how long I’ve worked there.” He paused, studying the older immortal. “Who was it that kept you so focused in Tokyo you forgot to ask Connor the right questions about me?”

Duncan chuckled. “Am I that predictable?”

Richie grinned. “You’re the one who told me the best reason to stay in a city was the love of a good woman.”

“So I did,” Duncan agreed with a nod. “Like Connor told you, I spent a year on MacLeod land in Scotland, trying to come to terms with everything that had happened to me, to both of us. It didn’t occur to me to check to see where you were because you usually raced in the summer, and I thought we’d reconnect come September.

“When I left, Methos contacted me and wanted me to check something out in Tokyo he insisted would be good for both of us. We wound up helping with a charity he insisted he had nothing to do with founding, even if I suspected differently. I met Satomi through that work a few years after I’d decided to stay and Methos had wandered off again.” He sighed with regret. “After fifteen years together, she decided a few months ago that she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with me. Nothing I said would change her mind. I found out later she’d found someone else and didn’t want to tell me.”

Richie looked at him sympathetically. “Hence you returning to Seacouver and starting over.”

Duncan nodded. “I really didn’t intend to make it seem like I forgot you existed, Richie.”

Shaking his head, Richie told him, “What’s done is done. I could’ve pushed Connor, too, to get in touch with you. Seemed easier somehow not to ask.”

“What about you? Anyone special in your life?”

Richie hesitated before answering. “Yes. I’m flying out tomorrow to see him.”

Duncan blinked. “I thought you liked women more than men,” he ventured cautiously.

“That was before I realized my luck with women has never been that good.”

Duncan smothered a chuckle, clearly remembering Richie’s problems with women. “Yeah, I can see where that would make you reconsider your choices.”

Richie grinned briefly. “Last woman I dated was a decade ago. Best thing about her was that she believed in never asking for something she wouldn’t herself give. Wound up being the reason we broke up – she wanted me to give up riding motorcycles because she was, among other things. We still see each other occasionally because she’s in the same industry.”

“Forgive me if this is awkward, but do you consider yourself to be bisexual or gay?”

“Bisexual,” Richie said firmly. “Just because I’m dating a guy now doesn’t mean I stopped being attracted to women.”

That garnered him a smile. “And here I was thinking I’d have no competition,” Duncan teased him.

Richie barked a laugh. “I’ve never been able to compete on your level, Mac; who are you kidding?”

Duncan chuckled before sobering. “Do you still talk to Anne Lindsey?”

“Not as often as I used to,” Richie acknowledged, “partly out of respect for her opinion on immortals. We usually see each other at the annual Seacouver General patient care aid fundraiser. She’s head of the ER department there now.” He paused before asking, “Thinking about asking her out again?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. She hasn’t changed her mind about us.”

Looking as though he expected that answer, Duncan nodded. “Tell me about the guy you’re seeing.”

Richie grinned as he imagined Mac’s reaction to finding out Cory was his boyfriend. “Nah, I’d rather wait until he’s in town; you can make your judgments then. Speaking of, I really should get going and finish packing.”

“Text me your number, please, so we can have dinner when you’re back?”

Richie hesitated. “You attract trouble and I usually wind up being collateral damage, whether it’s being used against you or something else. It'll be bad enough that the headhunters will find out you’re here. If it’s all the same, I’d rather not increase my risk.”

Startled, Duncan automatically protested before he stopped himself and acknowledged that truth with a rueful nod. “If you change your mind, Joe has my number. Watch your head, Richie.”

“You do the same,” Richie agreed. Feeling as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, Richie exited the pub.

* * *

Cory met Richie at the airport baggage claim, kissing him enthusiastically. Richie saw little of Cory’s townhouse in Alexandria that first night beyond the foyer, the stairs up to the second floor, and the master bedroom and bath. Both men were too caught up in wanting to sate the hunger they had for each other to care about such things.

Lying in the massive four-poster bed, Cory held Richie close in the wake of their spent passion. “What do you dream of when you think of being with someone a long time?” Cory asked.

“Having a partner, someone who supports what I’m doing, and will point out what’s good and what’s bad about what I’m planning. I might disagree with them, but we’re still friends and lovers and there’s that basic level of respect going both ways,” Richie admitted quietly. “And we can talk about anything. Like: why did you string fairy lights around the canopy and the posters of this bed?”

“Because I didn’t want to keep remembering when the canopy was heavy fabric to cut down on the cold, and all those memories associated with that,” Cory told him. “I needed something to make me smile while I lied here.” He rose up on one elbow and studied Richie. “You like them a lot.”

Richie grinned. “They make me think of how when I was little, I wanted to touch the stars. I just…thought this sort of thing was, well, girly.”

Cory arched a brow. “Conforming to gender standards, Richie?”

“More like – never gave myself permission to think beyond what I have been taught is acceptable,” Richie said. “Remember, Cory, it’s only been in the last nineteen years I’ve learned to be comfortable being openly bisexual. If Mac had been in town, I’m not sure how much of that I would’ve been able to accomplish without him making me doubt myself.”

Cory kissed him. “Because you wanted to make him proud of you, and he’d seen enough of your stupid mistakes to doubt you had any shred of competence.”

“Yeah. How do you and Matthew manage it?”

“We’ve had seven centuries of watching each other succeed and fuck up?” Cory offered with a laugh. “Speaking of – he’s invited us to meet his new girlfriend tomorrow night. We don’t have to go if you’d rather do something else.”

“No, that should be interesting,” Richie agreed. He yawned. “If it makes your arm fall asleep, you don’t have to hold me all night, Cory.”

Cory snorted. “As if that’s a hardship,” he said, dismissing Richie’s concern. “Something tells me you haven’t been held enough.”

Warmth flowed through Richie at those words and he hid a smile even as he snuggled closer.

Friday evening, Cory brought Richie with him to meet Matthew’s new girlfriend, Dani Gonzales, for dinner at a midrange restaurant in the Georgetown. Dani was a tall, curvaceous woman with a heart-shaped face and a warm smile. She wore a fashionable but modest flower-print dress that flattered her curves. She was a successful businesswoman whom Matthew had met through a dating service aimed at high-level professionals.

Matthew performed the introductions. “These are my friends, Cory Raines and Richie Ryan. Cory and Richie, this is my girlfriend, Dani Gonzales. Dani owns and runs a strategic marketing company here in DC.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dani said sincerely, shaking hands with each man.

Noting the way Cory’s arm was around Richie, Matthew turned to Cory and Richie. “Something one of you forgot to tell me?” he asked.

“Figured actions spoke louder than words,” Richie replied blithely.

“You didn’t know?” Dani asked Matthew, astonished.

“We’re a relatively new thing, and I don’t live here,” Richie excused himself. “And really, Matthew, you wouldn’t have believed me if I told you.”

Matthew turned to Cory. “You live to give me a heart attack, don’t you.”

Cory grinned, unrepentant. “Hasn’t happened yet but I keep trying. Looks like our table’s ready.”

Taking the hint, Matthew took Dani’s hand in his and the quartet followed the hostess to their table.

Once their orders had been placed, Dani looked at Richie. “Are you visiting for the weekend?”

“Yes,” Richie replied evenly. “I live in Seacouver, Washington, on the Pacific Coast, and work as a drafter for an engineering firm.”

Surprise lit her features. “Have you been doing that long, and does that require a degree?”

“Does your job require one?” Richie countered, annoyed by the implication in her tone. “I’m not as young as I look. If you’d like me to grill you on your relationship with Matthew, I can, but I’d rather not piss him off.”

Startled again, Dani bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she apologized swiftly. “I’m sure you hear this a lot – but you look like you’re in your early twenties.”

“Good genes,” Richie offered, taking the hand Cory offered under the table.

“How long will you be in town, Richie?” Matthew asked to redirect the conversation.

“Until Tuesday,” Richie said. “I’m hoping we can play tourist tomorrow, but it’s hard to decide where to go when you only have so much time.”

Dani nodded her understanding. “The Lincoln Memorial is worth it, and the park it is in has other items of interest within walking distance. There are a lot of Smithsonian Museums; they’re all free, but it can take hours to go through each one.”

“We should do at least the Lincoln Memorial and some of the other attractions on the National Mall,” Cory agreed. “Otherwise, your friends and coworkers will think you went nowhere.”

Richie laughed. “True. Dani, if you had to pick a museum to go to, which would you go to?”

“I can’t pick one,” she admitted. “Though the National Portrait Gallery creeps me out, so that’s one I wouldn’t go back to. All those portraits, mostly of dead people–” She shuddered. “That’s just creepy.”

“I’d probably go to the zoo,” Matthew offered, “over any of the museums, unless it was bad weather. I enjoy learning about history and the artifacts preserved in the museums, but I like the animals best.”

“That’s because you’d be a farmer if you weren’t a lawman,” Cory pointed out, amused.

“Really?” Dani asked, fascinated.

Relieved at the way the conversation had refocused, Richie contributed to the rest of the dinner conversation. Yet he couldn’t shake the sense that meeting them had been Dani’s test to pass, and she had failed.

“Think Matthew will keep seeing her now she’s met us?” Richie asked Cory on the ride back to his townhouse.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Cory said. “Her reaction to you was rude. That might be enough for Matthew to reconsider being with her, given he’s usually a stickler about that kind of stuff, but he’s also done stuff I’ve wondered what the hell he was thinking at time. I like how you cut her off, though.”

Richie chuckled dryly. “Wasn’t interested in spending the rest of dinner proving myself to her.”

“Did you want to see anything touristy while you were here?” Cory asked.

“Probably should; never know when I might get another chance to,” Richie acknowledged. He waited until they were at a stoplight to leer at the other man. “But I wouldn’t complain if we spent the rest of the weekend naked in your bed.”

Cory grinned and reached across the cab of the Jeep he was driving to grasp Richie’s hand. “We can do both,” he assured him. “I don’t want you thinking I just want you for your body and what we can do together in bed.”

“But what if I wanted you that way?” Richie teased, just to see what Cory would say.

“How are you about public sex?” Cory asked, not missing a beat.

Richie laughed. “Let’s not and say we did.”

Cory pretended to pout.

* * *

It was early afternoon by the time Richie and Cory made their way to the National Mall. Cory had been to the park’s many memorials before, and he let Richie’s enthusiasm guide them to which part of the two-mile-long attraction they wanted to visit next. Though the Washington Memorial’s elevator had been recently repaired, Richie refused to go up it.

“Me and tight spaces don’t get along,” he told Cory.

“I get that,” Cory assured him. “I hate waking up in a morgue drawer.”

Richie grimaced. “They lock them now.”

“Good to know. Wait – why?”

“People are weird and willing to steal anything,” Richie reminded him. “And selling organs is a thing.”

“Right.” Cory shuddered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It’s one thing to see this on TV or in a movie,” Richie remarked when they stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial some time later, “and another to stand here. The scale just doesn’t compare.”

Cory nodded. “It’s easy to take for granted you can see stuff like this on film, but it’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not.” Richie turned to him and kissed him, ignoring the surrounding crowd.

Seeing them, someone clapped; another hooted and hollered.

Grinning, Richie stepped back as Cory shared his smile.

Someone tapped Richie on the shoulder. He turned to see a young woman with turquoise hair smiling at them. Her t-shirt was a rainbow-hued unicorn.

“Hey, if you have a camera, I’d be happy to take your photo,” she offered.

Richie looked at Cory, who shrugged. “Your choice.”

Richie pulled his phone out of his pocket, set it to the camera function without unlocking it, and let the stranger take their photo.

“One more, just in case,” she said. “Okay, smile!”

“Appreciate it,” Richie said sincerely a moment later as the stranger handed back his phone.

“You’re welcome. Could you do the same for us?” She gestured to the older couple standing near her, who looked like they could be her parents.

Richie readily complied, taking her phone, and then her photo with the older couple, before handing the phone back to her.

Amused, Cory took Richie’s hand as they made their way down the stairs. “Think she’ll talk about us to her parents?”

“Probably,” Richie agreed. He contemplated where to go next and decided food was in order. “I’m hungry, and I’m getting tired. Want to get food and then head home?”

Cory leaned in and kissed him. “Sure.”

Over dinner at a restaurant near the National Mall, they discussed what they had seen and visited. Towards the end of their meal, Cory noted, “You’ve avoided talking about what’s waiting for you when you get home, so either you’re worried about what kind of mess you’ll be walking into at work, or something else happened.”

Richie sighed. “Duncan MacLeod is back in Seacouver. He wanted me to work at the new dojo he’s building. I told him no.”

“Do you want to keep him at arm’s length?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Richie admitted. “I mean, I’ve done without him for years. I don’t need him in my life, and him being in the city means the headhunters will step up their hunt.”

“You could move here,” Cory offered.

“Thought you wanted to be out of Matthew’s shadow, get away from your new micromanager of a boss.”

Cory shrugged. “Or we could pick a city, start over together.”

Richie looked down at his plate and picked at the remains of his meal. He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to fight about this, Cory, but I need to let you know this is one thing I won’t budge on, not unless something happens to change my mind, like needing to leave the city because I died publicly. I don’t want to move. I love knowing where everything in the city is, from the location of every holy ground to where I can get cough medicine and a doctor for my best friend at 3 in the morning. I love my house; I got the roof redone last year, and I have a contractor lined up to redo the windows next month.”

“It means that much to you?” Cory asked, surprised.

“I didn’t have a home until Mac and his then-girlfriend, Tessa, became my guardians and gave me one. When she died and he told me to sell everything, I thought he’d tell me to get lost, too, since the same mugger who killed her killed me.”

Understanding and sympathy dawned on Cory’s face. “And he’s done and said shit that made you feel you were trespassing in his life?”

Richie nodded. “I mean, it’s shit that I did because I was young, stupid, reckless, and didn’t know any better. But some of it–” He took a deep breath. “He took a Dark Quickening when I was twenty-two. Nearly killed me; if a friend hadn’t shot him, I wouldn’t be here. I forgave him eventually, but I can’t forget. That incident shaped me, because after it happened, I went headhunting. For a year, I didn’t care who I was challenging, just that winning would strengthen me. Doing so gave me the reputation I’m still carrying, two decades later.”

Cory reached across the table to take Richie’s hand. “I won’t ask you again to leave the home you’ve made for yourself, Richie. I get it now. But until I can join you there, please be careful? And consider leaving your relationship with Duncan as it currently stands, so you aren’t caught in the line of fire?”

Richie let out a breath. “I already told him I thought I was better off not trying to establish a friendship again. I don’t hate him, Cory. I have a life that doesn’t revolve around him, and I’d like to keep it that way.” He paused. “Of course, when he finds out you and I are seeing each other, he’ll blow a gasket.”

“I’d love to be there when he does,” Cory replied, grinning. His smile faded. “I don’t expect you to say it back if you’re not feeling it yet, but I love you, Richie.”

Richie stared at Cory, shocked at the declaration. He wasn’t sure what he felt for Cory was love yet – but he knew he felt strongly about the older man, more than a friend, more than a casual lover. Richie had given his heart away once too often to people who hadn’t deserved it; it had made him wary. Richie also didn’t quite trust Cory’s declaration – he’d heard Cory say he loved Amanda, after all; how could he compare to someone as beautiful, resourceful, and talented as her? Richie figured he was Cory’s latest fascination. The novelty of being with him – a man not yet a half century old, who had a nineteen-year-old’s sex drive, and who was no slouch in a fight against another immortal – had to be why Cory was attracted. It would pass, eventually, and Cory would hook back up with Amanda again.

Other than a few friends, Richie had yet to have a lover stay in his life. He fully expected Cory would be more of the same. Why should Richie declare his love when Cory would just leave?

“Please don’t hold it against me if I can’t say it back for a while. I care about you a lot,” Richie said into the silence that had fallen.

“I didn’t say it to pressure you,” Cory pointed out, not surprised that Richie hadn’t returned the sentiment. “I just want you to know. I’m committed to us, and I’ll find a job in Seacouver so we can be together. May not be what I was doing, but I swear it’ll be something legal and something you can be proud to say I’m doing.” He flashed a smile. “We can take this as slow or as fast as you want.”

Richie’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. “I want to take you with me tomorrow when I fly home.”

“I want to go with you, too, Richie. Let me see what I can put together so I’m in Seacouver as quickly as I can get there.”


	7. Chapter 7

_Friday, June 14_

Cory stared at his phone, checking his message history. Richie had texted him variants of ‘sorry, too tired to talk, call you when this project’s done,’ for the last three weeks. It made him wonder if he’d misstepped somewhere. Taking a deep breath, he dialed a number he’d copied from Richie’s phone when they were last together, hoping for insight.

“Hello?” Angie asked, her voice wary.

“Hello, is this Angie Burke?”

“Yes?”

“This is Cory Raines,” he introduced himself, aware that he had set his phone’s caller ID to private. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of Richie, and he’s not been answering his phone.”

Angie sighed. “Oh, hi, Cory, nice to meet you. Join the club. His work’s been insane the last month and a half. Thomas works a few blocks away from Richie and went to check on him today, since I was so worried. He said that Richie told him his firm’s down two CAD drafters out of four, and they had a big deadline today on top of the two they delivered last week.”

“What happened to the other two drafters?”

Angie drew a breath. “One of them died in a car accident two weekends ago; drunk driver. The other caught whooping cough and bronchitis and has been on quarantine and bed rest since about a week and a half ago.”

“Wait, isn’t there a vaccine for whooping cough?”

“You can catch it again if it’s been long enough,” Angie said sourly. “The vaccine doesn’t last forever. This state allows people to opt out of vaccinating their kids for quote personal reasons unquote. So now we have one of the worst vaccination rates in the country and people getting sick again of diseases that my parents and grandparents fought to see eradicated.” Angie’s tone was scathing. “And the company Richie works for couldn’t get a qualified temp in time because the project due today has security requirements because it’s a project at the Port of Seacouver, so they either have to hire someone who can pass the Port’s validation requirements or bring in a temp who already worked on a Port project elsewhere. Which, y’know, narrows it down considerably because all the CAD temps who could work on a Port project usually already are.”

Cory grimaced. Like a lot of immortals, he forgot about the intricacies involved with healthcare, but he’d thought that whooping cough was history. “So what you’re telling me is that Richie’s been working to fill the gap.”

“Yeah. If you’re worried about Richie, he’ll call you when he’s not liable to say shit he’ll regret. He withdraws from people when he’s stressed like this, and he’s snapped at me for poking at him too much.”

“But you’re still friends.”

“Partly because I refuse to be yet another person who proves his theory that people in his life don’t stay forever when he’s being difficult or having a bad day,” Angie told him cheerfully. “You know, until I saw that photo of you and him at the Lincoln Memorial, I was wondering if he’d made you up so I’d stop trying to match him up with someone.”

Cory took a deep breath. “No, I’m real,” he assured Angie. “If I was to let you in on a surprise, could you keep it a secret from Richie?”

“No, but Thomas can,” Angie told him honestly. “If it matters, I’ve known Richie longer than Thomas. He was my first boyfriend. We were ten years old. My mom told me he was trouble.”

Cory smothered a chuckle, hearing possessiveness and pride in Angie’s words. “In that case, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

“Like what?”

“When’s Richie’s birthday?”

“September 20, but if you make a big deal out of his birthday, he gets annoyed. I still remember this one girlfriend he had who threw him this huge party – invited everyone they knew, and a ton of people Richie didn’t – and then got pissed when he spent less than fifteen minutes at it.”

“Because it wasn’t about him,” Cory surmised.

“Exactly. Honestly, he’s perfectly happy with a card and dinner out, as long as no one sings him happy birthday and makes a fuss over how much older he isn’t looking.”

“Noted. What about Christmas? Does he celebrate it?”

“He does, but he usually has an invite to celebrate it with friends of his. Last year, they all met up in Atlanta, but he’s traveled as far as Paris and London.”

“You’ve never gone?”

“Thomas and I went with him seven years ago,” she volunteered. “They were meeting in Victoria that year, so it wasn’t as far for us. I was really looking forward to meeting Emily Harris and Russell Nash again, since they were so good to Richie and me back in '99 when we were both broke and unemployed, but only Emily was there that year.”

Cory’s eyes widened, recognizing Ceirdwyn’s and Connor’s aliases. “I see. Do you wish you could travel more?”

“Sometimes, but Thomas and Richie make more money than I do,” Angie admitted. “When we travel together, I try to make it so they’re not paying for everything, but I’ve learned they get offended if I fuss over how much they’re spending versus what I can contribute. Thomas had a boyfriend once who tried to tell Thomas and Richie that they shouldn’t be spending that kind of money on me.”

“I bet that went over like a lead balloon.”

“Pretty much. I mean, I’ve had boyfriends who got all up in arms about me hanging out with Thomas and Richie. I told them that if they couldn’t tolerate my best friends being guys, they didn’t deserve to be my boyfriend. Anything else you want to ask me?”

“Did you ever meet Duncan MacLeod?”

“Once – oh, years ago now. He tried to convince Richie that I was just using him because he had more money and a roof over his head.” Angie’s voice was full of scorn. “Like I wasn’t the one telling Richie he shouldn’t be listening to idiots, whether they were our old friends in the gang or not.” Angie paused. “Why? Do you know him?”

“I do. Richie told me he was back in the city.”

Angie groaned. “That’s the last person he needs around. He tried to tell Richie I wasn’t good enough to be his friend anymore, but Richie didn’t listen to him. Please tell me you’ll be here soon? Richie lights up when he talks about you, and I haven’t seen him that happy in a long time.”

“Working on it,” Cory assured her. “Don’t suppose you have a good real estate agent among your friends?”

“I do,” Angie said without hesitation. “Sandra Paul with Seacouver Realty.” Angie rattled off the number, which Cory wrote down in the notebook he kept for that purpose. “Tell her I sent you; otherwise, she’ll want to put you in that godawful new development in the West Village and you can get a perfectly good place elsewhere in the city.”

“Anywhere I should avoid?”

“Anything in the North Heights,” Angie told him. “It’s the ghetto, although the city’s been trying to make improvements. It’s still where you can rent a room by the hour in the Motor Inn and where the most crime happens.”

“Appreciate that info, Angie. Would you mind giving me Thomas’s number?”

“Hang on, let me text you it. I’ll warn him you’re calling so he doesn’t act surprised.”

His phone chimed with an incoming text. “Thanks, Angie. I’ll let you go so you can go back to whatever you were doing.”

“You’re welcome, Cory,” Angie said sincerely. “And I look forward to meeting you in person.”

“As do I,” Cory agreed. “Goodbye, Angie.”

“Goodbye, Cory.” She disconnected the line.

He stared at the phone a moment, then set it down on the table. If Richie pulled away from his friends when he was under stress, what would he be like when Cory was closer than a phone call away? Cory didn’t like that thought.

Next, he dialed Thomas.

“Ah, Richie’s mystery man,” Thomas greeted, sounding amused. “What can I do for you?”

“I have a surprise for Richie, but I need some help.”

“I’m listening,” Thomas assured him.

Cory detailed his plan, ending with, “What do you think?”

“Angie and I can definitely help with that,” Thomas agreed. “He won’t think anything of us wanting to grab breakfast with him, but sometimes when he’s had work stress, we have to make a case for him to be with us. I’ll handle it, no problem. Do you need a key to Richie’s place?”

“I never gave him back the one he gave me.”

Thomas chuckled. “I’ll remind him of that when he chides me about home security.”

Cory laughed. “Do that. Thanks, Thomas. I look forward to meeting you in person.”

“Same here. If you need anything before then, text me.”

“Will do.”

* * *

_Friday, June 21_

Exhausted from having to do double his normal workload, Richie made sure he paid attention as he drove home from work the following Friday. The siren warning of another immortal in his home made him slow his approach to his garage, but then he saw the door open and Cory standing there.

“Tried calling you but you weren’t answering your phone,” Cory said as Richie pulled his motorcycle into the garage.

“Was at the pub next door to my office; figured I’d call you when I got home so we could talk freely. My company celebrated us delivering those projects on time and to our clients’ satisfaction, so they hosted a party.” Richie put his motorcycle in neutral, kicked the kickstand, leaned his bike over to set it on the kickstand, shut off the machine, and dismounted. He then pocketed the keys in his left jacket pocket, undid his helmet’s chin straps, and pulled off his helmet. Stepping closer to Cory, he kissed him, loving the way Cory responded.

“Hi,” Richie greeted, sometime later. “Let me get the rest of my gear off.”

Cory grinned and gestured for him to step inside his house.

“How did you get in?”

“You never asked for your key back,” Cory pointed out as Richie took off his boots and set them underneath the coat hooks that lined the wall by the back door.

“I see,” Richie said, amused, as he undid the Velcro fastenings of his overpants before stepping out of them and hanging them up. He then pulled his sword out of his motorcycle jacket before hanging it up. Mindful not to point his sword at his lover, Richie then stepped into the kitchen. “Are you here for the weekend or longer?”

Cory shook his head. “Less, actually. I figure it’s too soon to ask you if I can move in with you.”

Surprised by that, Richie did a double-take. “What do you mean?”

Cory grinned. “I had an interview for a security consulting firm here in Seacouver two weeks ago. They called me Wednesday and want me to start in two weeks.”

“Congratulations! Wait…why don’t you want to move in with me?”

“Because it’s different when we’re seeing each other all the time,” Cory reminded him. “And if the last few weeks are any indication, you like your space when you’re stressed.”

Richie nodded ruefully. “Did you want to look for a place?”

“Already found one,” Cory assured him. “I’m in a townhouse a mile north of here.”

There weren’t that many townhouse developments within that radius. “The blue and yellow ones on Marlin Drive?”

Cory nodded. “I didn’t want one of the brand-new ones, but I didn’t want something so old I’d wind up spending all my time and money fixing it.”

“Yeah, I remember when those were built, ten years ago,” Richie told him. “My friend Thomas bought one when they were new; he’ll be pleased to know you’re neighbors. Did you put your house in Alexandria on the market?”

Nodding again, Cory kissed Richie, mindful of the sword he still held. “You look like you want to crash; I’ll come back and take you to breakfast.”

Richie hesitated, but the compassion he saw on his lover’s face sold him. “There’s a restaurant called the Blue Pelican about half a mile from your new place. I promised I’d meet Angie and Thomas there for breakfast at 9, since I’ve been avoiding everyone.”

Cory grinned. “I know; we’ve been talking. I’ll see you there.” He kissed Richie again before leaving, distracting him before Richie could ask what, precisely, he knew.

* * *

Cory parked the late-model sedan he was renting in the parking lot of the Blue Pelican. Immortal presence sounded its warning, but he didn’t see Richie’s motorcycle. Cory stepped out of the car in time to hear a motorcycle pull into the lot. Grinning, he waved at Richie, who then pulled his motorcycle next to Cory and parked it in the adjacent space.

Richie dismounted the motorcycle and pulled off his helmet. He stepped closer to Cory and kissed him.

“You ready for this?” Richie asked anxiously.

Cory grinned. “Can’t be worse than a hanging,” he joked.

Richie shook his head. “Only you could joke about that and make it funny.” He led the way into the restaurant, where his friends waited.

“Angie, Thomas, this is my boyfriend, Cory Raines. Cory, this is Angie Burke and Thomas Porterfield. Angie is the office manager for the local branch of a nationwide in-home and corporate office cleaning service and Thomas is a senior architect with GYLE Architects.”

Thomas looked like he’d walked off the page of some high-fashion menswear catalog. His green polo shirt, khakis, and brown fedora were all calculated choices to show off his style. He radiated confidence, as if he knew he was a strikingly handsome black man, had money, and had few worries about his status in life. Angie wore a t-shirt and jeans. In Thomas’s shadow, she seemed a little less certain of herself; Cory suspected she felt insecure beside him. Her sense of style, though, was loud in her choice of t-shirt, which featured a flamingo and the words ‘majestically awkward.’ He grinned, seeing it.

“Ah, the mystery man,” Thomas told them as they waited for a table. “Didn’t believe Angie when she said she saw a picture of you and talked to you.”

“Only because you’d totally use someone else’s photo if it meant some guy stopped stalking you,” Angie interjected.

“That happen a lot to you?” Cory asked Thomas.

“Some people don’t know the meaning of ‘one night only’,” Thomas scoffed.

Cory chuckled. “Then you need to stop promising them more. Or choose different people.”

Thomas made a face. “Yeah, well, I’ve never had anyone move across the country to be with me. Do you have a brother?”

Grinning, Cory said, “No, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Angie told him. “Thomas doesn’t want the white picket fence life.”

“I’ll settle for someone who wants a long-term relationship with benefits,” Thomas said in his defense.

“Not what you told me a few weeks ago,” Richie said. “Remember, you settle, you wind up with Dave Jackson.”

Thomas shuddered. “Never again. So, what do you do, Cory?”

“I’m a professional thief,” Cory said blandly, and waited for their reactions.

Angie glanced at Richie, who was grinning, and then at Thomas, who looked mildly perturbed. “For a security consulting firm, I presume,” she said.

Cory nodded. “Mostly the work I do is for corporations and high-profile individuals, or for specific events. My job is to see if the security measures in place or proposed are adequate or exceed certain parameters.”

Thomas looked more reassured. “Like for when a famous singer has a show at the stadium.”

“Or even simpler: for a construction site. A project I worked on last year was one where the client believed no one would climb a large construction crane, get into the cab, and try to operate it. My firm sent me out to prove them wrong.”

“That’s really cool,” Thomas exclaimed.

“I’m afraid of heights,” Angie murmured, “so there’s no way you’d ever get me up one of those things. But I remember talking about maybe trying it when Richie and I were kids.”

“Yeah, Gary was trying to convince us it would be cool,” Richie remembered. “None of us wanted to do it, though.”

“Probably better you didn’t,” Cory noted. “The crane operators usually lock the machines and the ladders so it’s more difficult to climb up. I was surprised by how much effort it actually took to do it.”

“But you did,” Thomas said. “Was the client surprised?”

“They told me his reaction was, ‘oh, I thought no one would be that determined or come prepared to climb.’”

Thomas chuckled. “Sounds like some of the clients I’ve encountered.”

“Oh, yeah, me too.”

“Difficult people are everywhere,” Cory commiserated. “Do you enjoy your work, Angie?”

“I do, actually. I worked as a part of the housekeeping staff at the Seacouver Four Seasons for a few years before I became the office manager for the local branch of a national maid service business. We have a national customer service center, so I usually don’t get clients calling us directly, but I have to address all the complaints that come in from the center and figure out resolutions.”

“Better you than me,” Thomas told her. “That would drive me crazy. Bad enough I have to satisfy some difficult clients. I don’t know what my reaction would be to some of the complaints you’ve mentioned.”

That made Angie smile and straighten her shoulders slightly. The hostess led them to a table near the back before passing out menus.

By the end of breakfast, Cory decided he liked Richie’s friends. Conversation pivoted to a fundraiser Thomas’s firm was contemplating doing, and how the firm had traditionally given the funds to the local food bank. Angie argued that giving money alone didn’t resolve the distribution problem; Thomas wanted his firm to support more LBGTQ+ causes because he agreed with Angie that food banks alone were not enough. Richie offered the name of a local charity that served as a shelter and soup kitchen for homeless youth, many of whom were LBGTQ+. Cory found himself in the role of devil’s advocate, torn between wanting to help the many versus a smaller, more targeted group.

“I like your friends,” he told Richie later that afternoon. “Thomas is a diva, but the clothes and attitude are a mask, aren’t they?”

Richie grinned. “They are, and he lets guys take him at face value when all he wants is to get laid. He and I have spent many a Friday or Saturday night being each other’s wingman, so I know the type of guy he goes for. He’s ready to settle down, get serious about someone. What did you think about Angie?”

“She doesn’t believe she’s worth it.”

Richie’s face tightened. “Yeah. We’ve known each other since we were both ten years old. She was adopted; I wasn’t. It’s been a toss-up as to who got the better end of that deal.”

“Because while she had a house and parents, they weren’t the best parents.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah. If Thomas was straight, I’d totally put the two of them together.”

Cory chuckled. “Want me to work on that?”

“No,” Richie said, kissing him, “and that’s not a dare, either.”

* * *

_Two weeks later_

Cory liked the atmosphere of the blues pub Richie took him to for their second date after his move to Seacouver. Too many clubs featuring live music seemed to think blasting their patrons’ eardrums was the way to go. Joe’s respected that their patrons and staff might want to talk; the act playing was at a reasonable volume, which Cory appreciated. He hated the current fashion of overly-loud restaurants where turning over the tables was prized over sitting and eating.

Cory let Richie lead him to a table near the back of the pub, noting it supplied reasonable accessibility to an exit while affording them an excellent view of the entire room.

“Hey, Richie,” their server greeted a few minutes after they sat down, “about time you came back.”

Richie grinned. “Hey, I was here a while ago. You weren’t on shift then, Michael.”

Michael shook his head and pretended to pout. Then he smiled, ruining his pose. “You want your usual Mac & Jack’s, Richie?” At Richie’s nod, he turned to Cory. “What can I get you?”

“Mac & Jack’s is fine,” Cory agreed. “Any suggestions for food?”

“Special’s the meatloaf sandwich with your choice of a side salad, mashed potatoes, French fries, or tater tots. If you’re not into meat, we also do a vegan version.” He handed them both one-page menus. “I’ll give you a few minutes to think about it and be back with your beer.”

“Come here a lot?” Cory asked Richie.

“Worked here on and off when I was younger,” Richie told him. “I owe my life to the owner, Joe Dawson. He’s helped me a lot. I stay in touch, make sure he’s doing okay. He doesn’t really have family other than a daughter who isn’t close.”

Cory nodded in understanding.

Michael returned with their drinks. Cory ordered the special; Richie, a cheeseburger. After Michael left, Cory and Richie sat in companionable silence, enjoying the music for several minutes.

They chatted about their plans for the next day. Angie had cancelled her usual meet-up with Richie to attend a bridal shower for another friend, who was not someone Richie knew, which left the day open.

“I’d rather not spend the afternoon in a movie,” Cory told him. “I’ve been sitting in meetings most of this week.”

“Art museum?”

“Only if you don’t mind me scoping it out like the reformed thief I am,” Cory returned with a grin.

“Not at all,” Richie replied, smiling. “I’d expect nothing less, actually.” He nodded to someone behind Cory. “Hi, Joe.”

Cory turned in his chair to see a bearded Caucasian man in his sixties moving towards them. He wore a denim shirt embroidered with the Joe’s Bar logo and khaki pants. He moved with a hitch in his step that made Cory think something was amiss with his lower body – hips or legs, Cory couldn’t tell which – and the way he used the cane spoke of an easy familiarity with the space between the tables and with his ability to balance. His oval face radiated warmth as he got closer. Richie rose to his feet and waited until the man came to a stop before he hugged him.

“Hey, Joe. Good to see you,” Richie greeted, affection and respect in his tone, as he sat back down.

“You too, Richie. Who’d you bring to my fine establishment tonight?” Joe turned to see who sat across from Richie and did a double-take. He shot Richie a ‘you have got to be kidding me look.’

Richie grinned unrepentantly. “Cory, this is Joe Dawson, owner of this bar, blues guitarist, and one of my dear friends. Joe, this is Cory Raines, my boyfriend.”

Cory rose and shook the other man’s hand. Recognition of his name made Cory pause before letting go of Joe’s hand. “Watcher?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Joe looked at Richie. “You didn’t warn him.”

Richie shook his head. “Sorry, Cory, but I planned to ask you if you knew about them after we got back tonight.”

Cory let go of Joe’s hand and sat back down. “Amanda warned me, but I haven’t gone looking for them. Amanda said your organization tried to kill you for being friends with us.”

Grimacing, Joe nodded. “Over twenty years ago now, but yes. That also means I know you two didn’t get along when you first met. What happened? He wouldn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t ask!” Richie objected.

“Oh, like you would tell me,” Joe muttered, but the smile told Cory he was yanking Richie’s chain because he could.

Cory looked at Richie and his lips curved. “We’re different people now.” He reached across the table to grasp Richie’s hand and watched Richie soften at the gesture. “And someone has to make sure this guy here has reasons to keep smiling and laughing.”

Joe chuckled. “Good. 'Bout time someone realized that.”

“Hey! I had reasons before!” Richie protested.

Joe scoffed. To Cory, he said, “I can already tell you’re doing him good. You in town for long?”

“Moved here two weeks ago, so you’ll see me again,” Cory promised. “I like the band you have playing now.”

Joe’s smile widened. “House band. I’ll be up there later. Richie – Mac asked for your number. Do you want me to give it to him?”

“No. Unless he shows up here, I’m not that interested in being his friend again.”

Joe nodded. “Thought as much. Told him he needed a better reason than old history; he didn’t believe me.” He didn’t look surprised. He turned to Cory. “Have you told Matthew you two are dating?”

“He took it well,” Cory told him. “Though I suspect his then-girlfriend distracted him.”

“Are they still dating?” Richie wondered.

Cory shook his head. “No. Matthew texted me earlier this week and said she said something similar about another of his friends and decided he didn’t want to risk a third event.” To Joe, he said, “She was a snob, and if there’s one thing that will get me and Matthew annoyed, it’s someone who thinks they’re better than everyone else.”

“I can see that.” Deftly, Joe took the plates Michael handed him and set them down in front of Richie and Cory. “Enjoy your dinner.” He took his cue to leave.

“I like him,” Cory decided, once Joe was out of earshot. “I can see where someone would take offense at his friendship with us. Who was he Watching – you or Mac?”

“Both, at one point. Started out with Mac, though. Have you met yours?”

“Probably, but I couldn’t tell you who it is now.” Cory shrugged. “I’m fascinated that I have a record of my life somewhere that I’ve never seen. Part of me wants to go find it so I can steal it for myself.”

Richie grinned. “I can see that,” he allowed. “I owe Joe my life; he shot Mac when Mac took a Dark Quickening and almost took my head. Plus, Joe giving me a job twenty years ago meant the difference between me starving and not, even if it meant I didn’t have much left over to pay rent and wound up homeless.”

Startled, Cory reassessed his lover. “No wonder you’re not that interested in whatever Mac’s doing.”

“It wasn’t just that,” Richie insisted. “I honestly thought Mac forgot about me, and from what he told me, I think he did. That doesn’t leave me much incentive to change things. Also – he attracts trouble. I do that enough by myself; I don’t need to double or triple my risk.”

Cory nodded. “I thought it had been long enough between the last time I saw him and running into him again back in 1996 that he would’ve let go of that grudge.” He shook his head ruefully. “If there was something you needed him for, would you call him?” he wondered.

Richie shrugged. “I don’t hate him, if that’s what you’re thinking. If I thought he could help, I probably would. You?”

“Oh, same,” Cory assured him. He ate some of his dinner. “This is fantastic.”

Richie nodded. “One of the reasons I keep coming back here – that, and the bands Joe has playing.”

“What caused his limp?”

“He stepped on a landmine in Vietnam and lost his legs,” Richie replied. “Joe wears prosthetics.”

“And works a job that means he’s on his feet a good portion of the day?”

“He won’t take pity,” Richie warned Cory. “But he wouldn’t say no to sitting down and asking you about your life. Could be a chance for you to set the record straight, if you wanted.”

Cory considered the notion a moment. “Not tonight,” he decided. “But I’ll think about it for another day.” He smiled at Richie. “How’s your dinner?”

Richie glanced down at his plate, which he had yet to touch. Laughing softly, he took a bite of his cheeseburger. “Properly messy,” he concluded a few minutes later, as he set it down and wiped his hands.

It didn’t take them long to finish eating. Enjoying the band, they lingered, moving their chairs so they could sit together and just watch. Richie wound up leaning his head against Cory’s shoulder.

Michael came by sometime later to check on them. Cory held up a finger to his mouth, amused that Richie trusted him enough to fall asleep in public.

The server grinned and pantomimed asking if Cory wanted the check. At Cory’s nod, he pulled the check folio out of his apron and handed it to Cory, who carefully checked it over and handed Michael his credit card.

Joe came by while Cory waited for Michael to run his card. Seeing Richie still soundly asleep, Joe noted quietly, “That alone says a lot about how he feels about you, Cory. I don’t think he’s let his guard down that much in years.”

“He plays the Game; I don’t.” At Joe’s disbelieving look, Cory amended it to, “At least not on the terms he’s playing them.” He then met Joe’s gaze. “And if I have any sway, I’d like to make sure he knows how to play them like I do. Might live to see a few more centuries that way.”

“That all you want from him?”

Cory flashed him a smile. “That’s between him and me.”

Joe returned the smile. “Don’t let him make assumptions, Cory. He’s good at that, and the less you talk, the more he assumes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Speaking of mind – any suggestions on how to wake him up without embarrassing him?”

“He’ll be embarrassed anyway,” Joe pointed out. “Might as well treat him like Sleeping Beauty. I’ll get out of your way so I can pretend I didn’t know about it.”

Cory chuckled and, after waiting for Joe to leave, did just that, kissing Richie awake.

Richie blinked and yawned. “Sorry, Cory. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

“Come on, let’s get you home so you can sleep so more.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Friday, July 12_

Cory was enjoying his Friday evening alone since Richie was attending a networking event. He had plans to see Richie the following evening for dinner with Angie and Thomas. When Cory had mentioned he was in a need of a new leather belt, Angie had told him that if he wanted a good leather goods shop, the West Village development had one. The development was divided between retail, commercial, restaurants, multistory, and single-family housing, with ample parking, and bus shelters for transit. A pharmacy that stocked traditional, homeopathic, and naturopathic medicines and related goods sat next to a hardware store next to a men’s bespoke tailor. The promised leather goods shop sat next to a cupcake bakery; a general clothing store was across the street from one featuring upscale designers. The police and fire stations sat next to each other and across the street from the branch post office, anchoring the center of the neighborhood. He parked his car in the lot behind the pharmacy, noting as he did so the storefront on the other side of the tailor had a sign announcing that it would be the location of the West Village Martial Arts Center, due to open in August.

Cory found the artifice of the development a little off-putting, especially since it felt like someone had put a lot of effort in recreating a nostalgic downtown feel for a middle-to-upper-class demographic. It was too-sharp a contrast to the surrounding neighborhoods, which looked less upscale, more post-WW-II era and older. Still, he wanted a replacement belt that would hold up to constant use, something made by a craftsman, and he had yet to find Angie’s recommendations to be unreliable.

He was in the leather goods shop, contemplating his belt choices, when the immortal presence filled his senses. Grimacing a little at the intensity of the signal, Cory picked up the belt he wanted and brought it to the counter, intending to be out of the shop quickly while still getting what he came to buy. He got outside before he saw who the other immortal was and groaned mentally. _Of course, the martial arts studio was MacLeod’s_ , he thought crossly. _Whose else’s would it be in Seacouver?_

“Cory?” Duncan MacLeod crossed the short distance between them. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t sound so astonished, Mac,” Cory drawled. “I do buy stuff occasionally.”

Duncan blinked and visibly regrouped. “Are you here for a while?”

Cory considered his response. “Could be,” he replied finally. “Let me guess: that’s your new dojo.” He gestured to the storefront.

Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Yes. If you’re planning anything –”

“–you’ll be the last to know,” Cory finished. He didn’t quite smile. While he agreed he had needed to pay for what he had done to Richie and Mac, the punishment exceeded the crime and, as Cory had discovered later, had not been applied to Amanda for her role in the mess. “Or was there something you wanted to say, since you made it clear the last time I was in the city, you and I aren’t friends anymore?”

Surprised by the reminder, Duncan blinked and straightened his shoulders. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” he said stiffly.

Satisfied, Cory continued with his exploration. Thomas’s birthday was coming up in two weeks; Richie had asked Cory for help in finding a gift for his fashion-conscious friend. Cory perused his options in the general clothing store before moving on. He could see why Angie had derided the new development as ‘yuppie-ville.’ He wandered through two more stores before walking out, heaving a sigh, and walking over to where Duncan stood.

“You going to keep watching to see which of your business friends I’ll rip off next or are you just that bored?” he demanded, insulted that Duncan had been shadowing him to see what he was doing.

“If that’s what it takes,” Duncan began.

Cory shook his head. “You need a life, MacLeod, and a new perspective. I’m not the thief you think I am.”

Duncan studied him a long moment. “All the latest technology scared you off?”

“No,” Cory replied. “And I don’t owe you an explanation for what I’m doing in this city. You’re not my lord and keeper.”

Duncan let out a breath. “No, I’m not.” He paused before asking, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Richie lately?”

Cory fought against grinning. “Not since last week,” he told him in his most serious voice. “He was most insistent I leave before he got angry.” He didn’t mention how much laughter had been in Richie’s voice when he’d said that, or how Cory had been laughing at how not serious Richie had been. Putting on his most concerned expression, Cory asked, “Are you two not talking? I could have sworn you were inseparable.”

Duncan stared at him. “You think he’s dangerous?” he asked cautiously.

“I wouldn’t piss him off, if that’s what you’re asking.” Cory looked at Duncan and debated how long he could draw this out. Unwilling to risk Duncan’s anger when he learned the truth, Cory settled for, “I heard he’s been defending himself against some headhunters who were looking for you and willing to settle for the Highlander’s student.”

Regret and remorse flashed across Duncan’s face before he nodded tightly. “Thanks, Cory.”

“You’re welcome.” Cory turned to leave and was surprised when Duncan didn’t call him back.

Once back in his car, Cory texted his boyfriend. _Ran into Mac here. His new dojo is in the West Village. Did you suggest it?_

 _Sorry, forgot I had_ , Richie responded swiftly. _Didn’t think he’d listen on that. Huh. You didn’t tell him about us, did you?_

_No. He acted like I would steal something. Annoyed me enough not mention us. Have you talked to him since you saw him in April?_

_No_ , Richie replied. _Didn’t want him to poke at my relationship with you, or risk someone hunting him to come after me like they used to. Why?_

 _Because I might’ve left him with the same impression you left Matthew_ , Cory warned him.

🤣 _Well, at least the story about my reputation is consistent_ 😼, Richie wrote. _Gotta get back to paying attention – we’re on to the featured guest speaker part of the evening and I want to listen to this guy. He’s an expert at the thing I need to learn next._

 _Enjoy!_ Cory wrote.

Needing a break from the West Village and Duncan, Cory debated his next move. He called Thomas, aware from conversations with Richie that the other man often considered Fridays his night out.

“Hey, Cory,” Thomas greeted warmly. “What can I do for you?”

“Richie’s busy; thought you might be the man to help me spend the night.”

A long pause met his words. “As long as you’re not suggesting cheating on Richie,” Thomas warned him, ice coating his words.

“God no,” Cory blurted, belatedly realizing how his words had sounded. “I just – ran into an old friend and need judgment-free company.”

Relieved, Thomas said, “I can totally be that guy, then. You want someplace to dance and shake it off or a quiet bar where we can talk?”

“How about something in between? Not Joe’s, though.” Cory didn’t want Joe’s scrutiny, suspecting the old Watcher might raise a fuss if he saw Cory and Thomas together.

“That would be The Purple Door. If you’re driving, park in the garage three blocks south.”

“See you there soon.”

The Purple Door turned out to be a R&B club. Thomas met him outside the club and led him past the VIP entrance to the second-floor VIP area. The first floor throbbed with the sound of the music the DJ was coordinating; the second floor was much quieter.

“This work?” Thomas asked after getting their drinks from the bartender and sitting down at the table.

“I like it,” Cory said approvingly. He sipped the whiskey cocktail and found it strong but not unbalanced. “You, Richie, and Angie come here often?”

“Angie doesn’t like the music, so usually it’s just me and Richie,” Thomas told him, grinning as he sipped his martini. “Contrary to widely held belief, the three of us aren’t joined at the hip. You, uh, okay, after running into that old friend of yours? Richie usually wants to dance off the energy or go for a long motorcycle ride.”

Cory blinked at that info. “You’ve seen Richie post-fight?”

Thomas nodded.

“More than once?”

Thomas nodded again. “He gets super-grim and focused, like dancing and flirting are the only things keeping him in the present. He never says that’s what happened, but I’ve known him too long to not pick up a few clues here and there.” He took a breath and squared his shoulders. “Especially after that one fucker kidnapped me and Angie to get to him, and we wound up watching Richie take his head.” Thomas shook his head. “All the shit I used to give Richie about running seven miles every morning, about spending Sundays in a gym practicing sword katas instead of going to church, about his dedication to martial arts – that was the afternoon I stopped. Before, when I’d tease him, Richie always smiled and changed the subject or said it was the one tradition of his former guardian he would always continue.” Thomas met Cory’s eyes. “I didn’t get it before. Didn’t see how he transformed from this happy-go-lucky guy to this deadly, graceful, and precise killer – but I’ve seen it, and now I’ll never doubt him that way again. Now, I don’t know you that well, but when Richie talks about old friends, he usually means someone with a long lifeline. Is that who you meant as well?”

“I did, but we didn’t fight, if that’s what you’re asking,” Cory replied. “He just annoyed me by assuming I can’t and have never changed. I don’t care about the Game most days.”

Thomas looked surprised. “Richie made it sound like you all had to.”

Cory shrugged. “To the degree it means I can’t do certain things, yes, I care. But who wins? Not my concern. Someone I know wins it? Great. Someone I don’t? Also great. I probably won’t be there to see who it is anyway.”

Thomas eyed him. “Richie told Angie and me you were older, but he wouldn’t say how much. You sound like someone who’s seen power shift between major players.”

Cory nodded. “The King of England once put a bounty on my head for wanting to feed myself and my friends. Plus, I’ve seen good men driven mad by the desire or the pressure or both to play the Game, to the point where the only way to escape it is to die. Changes your perspective on power, knowing that.”

“Did someone claim the bounty?” Thomas wondered.

“Yes.” Cory sipped his whiskey.

“And you don’t think the Game is worth playing?”

Cory shrugged. “I’m old enough to have seen many people – good, bad, and in between – die in service to a myth. I’m not stupid enough to rule out the possibility of it being real – I’m here, long after I was supposed to be dead – but I also don’t want to stop living, either. Way I see it, you either spend your days consumed by all the things you need to do to be a high-level player, or you figure out what’s reasonable and do that instead.”

“Like the people who get obsessed with being the best in the multilevel, multi-player online computer games, to the point they forget about the real world.”

Cory nodded. “And never see the sun, never talk to another person in person, forget to eat, forget to pee, and get cranky when someone points out that what they’re doing is unhealthy. I prefer to enjoy living and let others worry about the Game.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Richie wouldn’t trust you if he didn’t believe you were good enough to defend him.”

Cory spread his hands. “Just because I prefer to stay out of the Game doesn’t mean I wouldn’t play it if need be. Like I told you when we met, I’m a thief. I’ll lie, cheat, steal, and kill to defend the people I love. I might’ve been born during the age of chivalry, but I learned early that rules are sometimes meant to be broken.”

Thomas studied him a moment before chuckling abruptly. “And you’d be underestimated, and you’d win because whoever came to challenge Richie would assume you’d play by the same rules he does.”

“You’d be right.”

Thomas saluted him with his drink. “Then I’m glad he has you. I’ve worried he’d wind up with someone who wouldn’t be able to handle the future with him.”

“How come you and Richie didn’t work out? You get along so well, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were involved.”

Thomas laughed. “Been wondering when you’d ask. Him and me didn’t click that way. We kissed, and it was – wait, why are we doing this? We laughed for like, ten minutes. And yes, we’ve been each other’s dates for formal events, even played up the whole ‘let people think we’re involved’ occasionally.” He paused. “Didn’t think he meant the ‘I will kill for you’ literally until it happened.” He shook his head at the memory and took a sip of his drink. “Also didn’t think he’d go for someone like you.”

“Because we’re both long-lived?”

Thomas shook his head. “Always figured there had to be one someday,” he corrected. “Richie tends to pick guys who want stability, which usually means they’re a lot –” He made a face. “Boring. You make Richie laugh and relax like he’s not worried about the next idiot who wants to die on his sword. I like you for that.”

“Appreciate knowing that. Angie warned me that Richie won’t like it if I make a big deal out of his birthday. Your take?”

“Agreed,” Thomas said. “He even tries to downplay ours, but he loves a good gift – both giving and receiving. He told us about the roses you sent him.”

Cory grinned. “He liked them?”

“The photo of the roses on his desk is his phone wallpaper.”

Startled by that info, Cory looked at Thomas.

“He’s a romantic, Cory. If you told me you texted him love notes, I wouldn’t be surprised he’s with you now. But if you want to hang on to him, you’ll have a fight.”

“What do you mean?”

Thomas leaned in. “He expects everyone to leave. Probably has already convinced himself you’re just interested because he’s young and pretty.”

Cory stared at him. “That’s not why I love him.”

Thomas met Cory’s gaze. “Then you’d better figure out how to make him believe you’re here for the long haul. He thought after that fucker headhunter kidnapped us to get to him, we’d dump him like a hot potato, even after he paid for us to go see a professional trauma counselor for as long as we needed.”

“Many people in your shoes would.”

Thomas snorted. “Then they’d miss out on knowing with absolute certainty they have one person in their lives who’d do anything for them. That’s a security I’ll never take for granted. I wasn’t born rich, but my first guy was – and because of him, I learned what money and power is in this city. I know what it can do – and how it doesn’t mean shit when you aren’t willing to risk everything to save a friend.”

Cory’s eyes narrowed. “This your version of a shovel talk, Thomas? You have friends in high places and can bury my body somewhere it’ll never be found?”

Thomas grinned. “Figured I wouldn’t scare you off, but at least I could let you know I love and owe Richie.”

“I like it,” Cory said, and toasted him. “But in case you’re wondering – I’m serious about Richie.”

“Good,” Thomas noted. “Then maybe you can help me find someone as good? I hate dating apps and the club scene’s getting old.”

Cory’s smile widened. “What about Angie?”

Thomas sputtered. “Cory, I’m gay. I wouldn’t know what to do with Angie, let alone any woman. Besides, what she wants in a lover is a line I refuse to cross. She’s into BDSM – and was, long before _Fifty Shades of a Trash Relationship_ came out. She’s at that club tonight, so don’t comment on any bruises you see on her tomorrow.”

“That explains why she knew about the leather goods store,” Cory murmured.

Thomas nodded. “Richie and I both have told her we think it’s okay to be kinky but not to hurt people so bad you leave them with visible evidence. Or to use kink as a label for behavior you wouldn’t tolerate anywhere else. We’re worried she’ll meet someone who’ll use BDSM to put her in dangerous situation, but she claims she knows what she’s doing.”

Cory grimaced. “Let’s hope tonight goes well, then. Women have never interested you?”

Thomas shook his head. “Nah, not even as a kid. Fell in love with the boy next door – literally – and we were together until he fell off the roof of what was then a two-and-half-story church. Adam Gunter was an idiot, but –” Thomas sighed, remembering, “he was my idiot. He was of the Seacouver Gunters – as in, one of the founding families of the city.”

“Are they still powerful?” Cory wondered as he ate his dinner.

“There’s always been a Gunter on the city council,” Thomas pointed out. “And Adam’s sister, Laura, is the city’s attorney.”

Cory considered that while they ate. “Do you like them as people?”

Thomas shrugged. “I like Laura and her father, William; William’s the city council chair right now. Her mother, Bridget, is a bigot, in the way only someone who grew up rich and privileged can be, and can’t see past her thousand and one exceptions to realize she actually deals with ‘those people’ daily and none of them would do what she’s been raised to believe.”

Recognizing the type, Cory made a face. “And you’re one of her many exceptions.”

Thomas nodded. “Frankly, it’s tiring to keep up with who’s on her excluded list, and I quit trying. I blame her for getting into Adam’s head about how safety didn’t apply to people like him.” He shrugged. “But knowing that family has made it easier for me to make charitable connections.”

“I can see that,” Cory said, and turned the conversation to the charitable efforts Thomas was spearheading.

* * *

Dinner the following evening was at Thomas’s townhouse, which was at the opposite end of the small, twenty-home development from the one Cory had purchased. All the townhouses had been built in the same four-unit-per-building, three-story configuration, with garages in the back, small yards in the front, and covered porches with second-floor balconies. Aware he would be the last to arrive, Cory walked the short distance to Thomas’s unit, which was one of the blue-painted corner units.

Angie greeted him when he rang the doorbell. In deference to the summer heat, she’d chosen a gauzy, embroidered, button-down top that drifted past her hips and a pair of shorts. A dark line of fingerprint bruises marred her forearms. It took Cory his years of holding a poker face not to react to the clear indications of what she had done the night before. She smiled and offered him a careful hug in greeting; if he held onto her and told her she looked gorgeous a little more forcefully than he might have otherwise, that was between him and Angie. When he pulled back, she told him ruefully, “Yeah, last night was over the top.”

“You tell whoever did that to you they couldn’t do that to you again?” he asked, concerned.

“In the moment: no. This morning: yes. He was apologetic, but –” She took a deep breath. “I’m reconsidering everything, especially after seeing you and Richie together.”

“If you have problems reinforcing that no, let me know,” Cory said seriously.

Angie smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She stepped aside to let him into the living room.

Like the unit Cory had purchased, the first floor consisted of a bathroom, the laundry room, and the connection with the garage, but where Cory had an open space for storage, Thomas had a spare bedroom. Where Cory’s stairs were to his right, in Thomas’s, they were on the left. He followed Angie up the stairs to the second floor, stepping into the great room. The kitchen sat in the far left corner, separated from the dining room by a breakfast bar, the stairs, and a powder bath. Thomas had chosen the built-in fireplace, which Cory’s unit lacked. Turning, Cory saw that Thomas also had a built-in closet near the landing of the stairs and a desk, which explained the odd alcoves his unit had. The third floor was the master bedroom and bath and two other bedrooms with a shared bathroom.

“Trying to figure out what’s different from yours?” Thomas called out, noting Cory’s entrance.

“Yeah. I’m missing a few things from this floor, and it looks like you have one more bedroom than me.”

“I bought everything they could offer me,” Thomas told him as Cory drew closer. “Upgraded everything; figured I’d eventually want a house in which I could raise a family and didn’t want to think about going through the whole home buying process a second time.” He paused his chopping of onions to gesture to Richie. “He thought I was spending too much money.”

“You told me it was your inheritance from Adam,” Richie excused himself. “Didn’t want you going broke.”

He went to kiss Cory, who returned his greeting eagerly. “White or red wine? Thomas is making lamb curry.”

“Red, please. Anything I can do to help?”

Thomas shook his head. He wore a red apron over a baseball jersey and khaki shorts; it was the most casual Cory had ever seen him. “This won’t take long. I already started the rice in the cooker.” He pointed to the black-lidded jar to the right of the stove. “I enjoy making it taste like I slaved for hours.”

Curious, Cory checked out the jar and found it a container of pre-made yellow curry sauce. Grinning, he took the glass of red wine Richie handed him and took a seat at the breakfast bar. “Wasn’t expecting you to cook,” he told Thomas now.

“We don’t go out when Angie’s bruised,” Thomas replied, and she flushed. “I’m black, Richie’s a redhead, and between the two of us, someone assumes we’re the reason she has bruises.”

“Sorry,” Angie told them. “Last night was too much, even for me. It’ll be cold in my office next week, so I can hide the bruises by wearing long sleeves.”

“Are you going to stop?” Richie asked bluntly.

Angie took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I need to think about it.”

Accepting that was as good as he would get, Richie moved to a less fraught topic. “The Seacouver General Sweet Charity Ball is in a month. Angie, did you want to go?”

“Let me see if I can still fit into that gorgeous ball gown you got me last year,” Angie hedged.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll pay for a tailor to recut it to fit,” Cory volunteered. “I’d love to see you all dressed up. It’s a formal black-tie event?”

Richie nodded. “One of the four big ones – the others are the Starlight Ball in December, which benefits Children’s Hospital and the Seacouver Children’s Foundation; the Black Cat Masquerade, which benefits the Seacouver Animal Rescue; and – what’s the fourth one?”

“The Midwinter Escapade, in February,” Thomas put in as he dumped onions into a sizzling pan on the stove. “You usually skip that one because while it benefits a bunch of charities, it’s in the Hotel Monaco and the organizers have yet to figure out how to make that space work for the number of tickets they sell.”

“Too crowded,” Angie added. She poured herself another helping of red wine from the bottle on the breakfast bar. “I told Holly she needed to book herself into a new hotel or she’d lose people.”

Intrigued, Cory asked, “So why doesn’t she?”

“Because she’d have to tell her mother that the Hotel Monaco is a dump and nobody wants to go there anymore, and Holly’s mother is stuck on the whole ‘I’m doing something for charity and I get to hobnob with the rich and famous of this town while I’m doing it’.” Angie made a face. “My company staffs that hotel for housekeeping staff because the hotel’s too cheap to hire their own, and the hotel manager keeps wanting to cut the number of maids we take there to get it done because he thinks one person for every twenty rooms is a doable number. It’s not, not if you want to have a meticulously clean hotel.”

“Between you three, I’m getting to get the idea you’re better connected than you let people believe,” Cory noted.

Richie barked a laugh. “Yeah, well, some of it’s what happens when you grow up here.”

“Amen to that,” Thomas agreed. “And while I don’t brag about who I know, it’s made things possible I wouldn’t likely have otherwise.”

Cory nodded. “I can see that. The security firm I work for, Guardian Custom Security Solutions, said they do a lot with charitable events.”

“Lot of old money in this town,” Thomas told him. “It’s why the West Village got done so quickly.” He added cut lamb meat to the skillet, letting the cubes sear, before adding in the sauce, turning down the heat, and covering the skillet with a lid. “Guardian Custom Security Solutions usually does the security for the Sweet Charity Ball. You should check to see if you’re allowed to attend as a guest of someone.”

Cory blinked. “Hadn’t thought of that angle. Wait – how do you know if they would ask?”

Richie and Thomas answered simultaneously. “Our ex.”

They exchanged looks and laughed. “Our ex, Dave Johnson, used to work for them,” Richie explained. “He got fired for coming on to someone while he was supposed to be working. Now he works as a rent-a-cop for the mall.”

“You dated the same guy?”

Angie groaned. “No, they shared the same good-time-guy for a few years before they realized he wasn’t being honest with either of them,” she informed Cory. “He was trying to play them off each other, and then got pissy when they informed him together that his attempts to break up their friendship had only united them against him.”

Cory shook his head. “Well, that would be an idiot power move.”

The three friends chuckled.

After dinner, Richie and Cory excused themselves and headed back to Cory’s house. That night, under the glow of the fairy lights Cory had rehung on his four-poster bed, Cory took the time to worship Richie’s body tenderly, as if they only had the night to spend with each other. Despite the languages and extensive vocabulary he had learned over the centuries, Cory was reduced to the language of touch. He had no words to express how deep his love for the other immortal went. In the afterglow, Richie looked at him, worried.

“What’s going through your head, Cory?”

“I love you, Richie,” Cory told him. “Can’t a guy show you sometime?”

“Sure, but that felt like goodbye. Did someone challenge you?”

“No,” Cory vowed. “I wouldn’t hide that from you. I just – needed to appreciate you. You’re so beautiful to me, Richie. Sometimes the shit that comes from being immortal turns people into bitter, isolated, and cynical versions of themselves. You’ve balanced that ugliness by having two very loyal friends who love you deeply.”

Richie studied him. “Thomas gave you a shovel talk.”

Cory raised an eyebrow. “And a fine one it was.”

Richie frowned. “He shouldn’t have done it.”

“Richie, Thomas loves you. He’d kill for you if you asked him. Same with Angie. I’m not threatened by that. I’m honored they think I’m that important to you.” He studied Richie’s face. “My love for you isn’t conditional, Richie. I’m not with you just because you’re younger or because of your youthful looks. I’m not with you because you’re not anyone I’ve ever loved – they don’t matter, I wouldn’t compare you anyway, and I don’t even think about them when I’m with you. I’m with you because you’re you, and your friends’ loyalty affirms some of the things that make you worth my time and my love. Believe me when I say I don’t have the words for why I love you, only that I do.” 

Richie closed his eyes. “I don’t want to lose what we have, Cory. You’ve become particularly important to me.”

Cory kissed him. “As have you.” Even as he held his boyfriend close, Cory wondered if what he was doing was enough. He wanted Richie’s love. Only actions and time would prove his worth to the younger man, but the part of him who had learned to take what he wanted and damn the consequences wanted to push Richie. Cory told himself to be patient. Richie didn’t need a lover who demanded something he wasn’t prepared or ready to give.


	9. Chapter 9

_Saturday, August 10_

The venue hosting the Seacouver General Sweet Charity Gala was a massive, renovated church, now known as the Sacred Heart Community Center, and featured a balcony, main floor, and a downstairs area. Cory had been through the space in his official role as a security consultant and knew it was no longer holy ground. As Thomas had predicted, Cory’s employer had not wanted him to go as a guest, but as an undercover employee; he’d agreed only because he knew he wouldn’t be able to turn off that part of his brain. He also knew that the expected attendance was 250, with a seated, four-course dinner, dancing to a live orchestra, a silent auction, and a live raffle.

Still, Cory let the details of the security fade into the background. He waited with Richie as they went through the security check and then were directed to their table. Thomas arrived shortly thereafter. He escorted a bear-like Hispanic man, who he introduced as Rafael Padilla, a structural engineer. Rafael looked faintly ill at ease in his black tux; it hung on his wide body in a way that betrayed that he had rented it rather than have it tailored to fit.

Angie was close behind; her date was a longtime friend, Violet Evans, who was a striking, willowy brunette. Angie wore a dark purple A-line gown that flattered her figure; Violet, a burgundy sleeveless gown with a sheer lace overlay that helped create the illusion of curves. At their entrance, Thomas looked at Richie. “Told you,” he crowed. “Pay up.”

Shaking his head, Richie slipped Thomas the twenty dollars he owed. To Cory and Rafael, Richie explained, “Thomas bet me Angie would ask her best female friend to this rather than ask another guy.”

Cory grinned. “Trying to not be alone at a table full of men?” he asked Angie.

“Of course,” Angie said tartly. “Besides, Violet doesn’t get out much.”

“It’s true: I’m not the extrovert these three are.”

At such a large gathering, both Cory and Richie expected other immortals to be in attendance. They were not disappointed; immortal presence filled their senses repeatedly as the event space filled and people were seated. Cory, in typical fashion, ignored it. Sensing Richie’s tension at the repeated warnings of another immortal, he reached for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Nodding his gratitude, Richie took a deep breath and deliberately refocused his attention, getting to know Rafael and catching up with Violet, who worked as an executive assistant for an IT firm.

“I haven’t seen you hang out with these three,” Cory noted to Violet.

She laughed. She had an oval face with a wide mouth; her features reminded him of a famous girl-next-door fashion model. “I’m much more of a homebody. Give me a book to read or a TV show to watch and I forget about going out. Angie has to remind me that bars and movie theatres exist. How long have you and Richie been together?”

“Since April,” he replied, glancing at Richie, who was absorbed in conversation with Rafael.

Violet beamed at that. “If you two want me to take photos of you two later when you’re dancing, let me know.”

“I’d love that. How long have you known Angie, Richie, and Thomas?”

“Six years now,” Violet replied. “I used to work at the firm Richie works at, but I wasn’t into their culture. It’s a little too personal for me, which I didn’t appreciate at the time, so I left after six months. Richie introduced me to Angie and Thomas, hoping their connections would help me out. I wound up at the firm I’m at now through one of their friends. They’re amazing people. I’ve never had friends who were like family.”

Cory nodded. “Sometimes when you’re alone in a city, those are the connections you have to make, or you wind up feeling isolated.”

Violet smiled. “I’m glad they did – I moved here from a small town in Maryland.”

To Rafael, she asked, “Did you grow up here?”

“No, I moved here for work four months ago. I’m at the same company as Richie – West Harbor Engineers.” He grinned. “I thought for sure he was kidding when he said he knew a guy who could take me on a good first date.”

“This is your first date?” Violet exclaimed. “Oh, wow. It’ll be downhill from here.” She put a hand over her mouth as she realized she’d blurted her first thought.

Rafael chuckled as Thomas interjected, “That’s what you think, Violet.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cory interjected casually. “Be hard-pressed to top this as a first date.”

Violet latched onto the notion eagerly. “Men look fabulous in tuxes, and after this, you’ll go back to a regular dinner. Me, if this was my first date, I’d be expecting something fabulous for the second – like dinner at the Cape Angel,” she said, naming the city’s famed five-star, upper-class dining restaurant.

“Can you even afford that?” Richie teased Thomas, who glared at him. Cory smothered a chuckle as Angie put a hand over her mouth.

“Better question is – why would I ever want to eat there?” Rafael came to his date’s defense.

“Because it’s the best restaurant in the city,” Violet told him. “It’s the one that gets written up in all the food magazines for its presentation, food quality, and service. If the people who gave out Michelin stars ever went farther north and west than Portland, Oregon, everyone swears Cape Angel would get one.”

“How do you know that?” Cory asked.

“I book all the VIPs dinner in restaurants across the city,” Violet explained. “If anyone wants to know where to go for that sort of thing, I’m your girl.”

“I may take you up on that,” Rafael told her.

Violet smiled. “You’re in good company for that. Thomas and Richie know all the good places to go, and both can cook.”

Rafael’s eyes widened. He turned to Thomas. “You cook, you enjoy going to events like this, and you’re in the same industry as me? How are you real?”

Thomas laughed, leaned over, and kissed him chastely. “Just so you don’t think I’m a mannequin,” he teased Rafael.

“Hell no.”

As dinner was served, conversation flowed freely. Cory watched the sparks fly between Rafael and Thomas, and did his part in making sure Violet didn’t feel neglected.

Later, once dinner was over, Cory took Richie out onto the dance floor. “I have no idea how to dance to this,” Richie confessed as the orchestra played a waltz. “Usually Thomas has to keep me from stepping on his toes.”

“Let me lead,” Cory told him, grinning. The music transported him back in time, and Richie kissed him to keep him grounded in the here and now. Acknowledging the memory and Richie’s actions, Cory took his boyfriend’s hand and reveled in dancing formally, openly, as a gay couple.

Three songs later, Richie had picked up the rhythm and was laughing as the orchestra changed genres to play an instrumental version of a popular dance club hit. Cory, never one to resist a challenge, led Richie through a tango to the music.

They walked off the dance floor to scattered applause and were making their way back to their table when he heard a distinctive voice ask, “Cory? Richie?”

Richie’s grip on his hand tightened. He squeezed it reassuringly and turned to face the man. “Duncan! Good to see you here!” he greeted cheerfully.

Duncan looked as though he was torn between asking an awkward question and not, so Cory glanced at Richie.

Richie was fighting a smile. “Hi, Mac.” He leaned in closer to Cory and nodded to the elegant brunette standing a step behind Mac. “Who’s your guest?”

Caught, Duncan pressed the woman forward. “Richie, Cory, this is my date, Misty Munro.” She flinched, so slightly Cory almost missed the movement, but he saw Duncan’s hand tighten. “She’s the head of the West Village Business Association. Misty, these are my friends, Cory Raines, and Richie Ryan. They live to surprise me.”

Both men shook hands with her. “Ignore him,” Cory told her in a stage whisper, grinning, hoping his charm would ease whatever discomfort she was feeling. “He hasn’t had fun in decades.”

Misty’s eyes widened. “You’ve known each other a long time?”

“We go way back,” Cory told her.

Misty glanced at Duncan. “I thought you said you didn’t know anyone in the city.”

“I wasn’t sure if they were still here,” Duncan excused himself. “Will you excuse us, Misty? I’d like to have a few words with them alone.”

“Of course.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, but not before looking relieved she wouldn’t have to stay.

Free to speak, Duncan stared at Richie and Cory. “You aren’t putting on a show for my benefit?”

Richie rolled his eyes. “No. Now unless you have something good to say, we should get back to our table.”

Duncan opened his mouth, tried to find words, and settled for, “What about Amanda?”

“Amanda who?” Cory returned evenly. “Been over twenty years since she gave me the time of day, and she couldn’t even tell me then she was with you.”

Duncan acknowledged that point with a nod. Looking at Richie, he asked, “Are you happy?”

“Very,” Richie agreed. “And no, no one put us up to this, we’re committed to each other, and I’m still the same guy you talked to in April. How long have you been with Misty?”

“A few weeks,” Duncan admitted.

“Ask her how comfortable she was seeing us,” Cory suggested gently.

Duncan winced. He sighed heavily. “Right, I’ll go do that. You two –” he shook his head, “are going to scandalize a lot of our friends.”

Cory laughed. “No, we aren’t; it’s the wrong century for us to be a scandal.”

“True.” Duncan took a breath. “Good to see you.”

The emcee for the event cut in at that moment. “A reminder we are still taking bids for the silent auction downstairs, which will close in an hour. We are also raffling our first door prize. If you have a gold ticket number 35972790, please come to the front to claim your prize.”

“I should go see if Misty won that,” Duncan said, taking the opportunity to leave.

Richie lifted a brow as he and Cory made their way back to their table. “That makes two. Are we just bad luck for our teachers and their dates?”

Cory laughed. “Don’t know, but I think you might be successful matching your coworker and Thomas.”

“I hope so,” Richie said earnestly. “Be nice to double date.”

* * *

The gala ended at midnight. As was tradition, Richie had rented a limo to take him and his friends home, since the champagne had been free-flowing and he wanted to ensure their safety. He and Cory were the last to exit the car. Standing in the small living room of Richie’s house, Cory took the moment to study his boyfriend.

“You were ready to fight Duncan if he didn’t accept us,” Cory noted.

“Yeah, well, it’s one thing to know I’m bisexual; another to see evidence. And – for all the acceptance Mac preaches, he can have higher standards and expectations for people he knows. I wasn’t sure how he would react.”

Cory shook his head. “Even if he had reacted badly – and I suspect his awkwardness came out of it being me with you and believing I’m not serious about much of anything – it wouldn’t change my conviction. I’m not leaving you, Richie. I don’t scare off easily. When I’m committed to someone or something, I follow it through and give it my all. I prefer fun, but it doesn’t mean I can’t be serious. I don’t know how much proof you need from me, but I’m here for the long haul.”

Worry lined Richie’s face as he looked at him. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“Means everything, Richie. Means if I spend the next decade or the next fifty years here in this small house with you, loving you, it’ll be worth it. You and I – we tend not to talk about forever because if we don’t mention it, it’ll happen magically and we’ll be able to say, oh wow, that happened, cool. But I’ll save you that fear if I could. You have me to lean on. I’ll never let you go willingly, not without trying to convince you how much better we are together.”

Richie took a deep breath. “I keep expecting some headhunter to come crashing through and ruin everything. Like one almost always has in my life.”

“And if one does, will it change how you feel about us? About me?”

“God no,” Richie said swiftly. “Cory, I love you so much it scares me. I’ve made a habit out of not being terrified of anyone or anything. But being with you – especially tonight, when we ran into Mac – has made me realize I’d forgotten what it means to lean on someone. To have a partner who’ll lead me through a dance I don’t know and reassure me it’ll be okay. To have a friend my other friends look to for a smile, a word, a shoulder. Angie brought Violet with her for a reason.”

“To make her remember she has friends and a life outside of work and her home. Angie knew you, Thomas, and I could make Violet feel comfortable, even with the added variable of Rafael.”

Richie nodded. “I watched you do that with Violet and I loved you even more for it. You didn’t have to – you could’ve ignored her, focused your attention on me. You didn’t. You figured out Violet’s heard how physically pretty she is and how it’s made her shy and introspective instead – and you had her laughing, engaged with teasing Rafael and Thomas about how Thomas had standards to live up to, and you did it without making me feel you were forgetting about me, either.

“And then, on top of that - Every time I felt another of us at the party tonight, you squeezed my wrist or my hand, and in doing so, you reassured me it was okay to just sit there and pretend I felt nothing. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone do that.”

Stepping closer to take him into his arms, Cory kissed Richie reassuringly. “Living forever means you don’t run to every challenge, Richie, or assure every immortal in the room you don’t want their head. Most of us would rather not be noticed that way. You and the MacLeods have big enough reputations that when you do talk to another immortal, it becomes fodder for the grapevine. That still doesn’t mean you need to reinforce that reputation by making yourself even more visible. That’s an effective way for people to point out at every event you go to that you’re there. I saw that happen with more than one of my friends who had similar reputations.”

Richie met his gaze. “I met Brian Cullen before Mac took his head. He was high, drunk, and out of his mind. I couldn’t reconcile the guy who tried to play ‘chicken’ with me on a mountain road and crashed into a bus, killing several of the passengers, with the guy Mac said had been the best swordsman in all of Europe and one of his best friends.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be that guy, Cory, but I don’t know how you sat there calmly. I counted twenty-three of us at that event tonight.”

“It’s taken me a long time to be okay with pretending that an event like that is on holy ground. That might’ve been a former church, but whoever turned into an event space deliberately unconsecrated it without desecrating it.”

Richie half-smiled. “Rumor is that they called in the highest Catholic priest they could find before they did the interior renovations.”

“They did an excellent job. I want you safe, Richie, but I also recognize there’ll be times either of us will have to deal with the Game. Judging from the looks some of those other immortals shot us, I’d lay even odds you and I will be dealing with the fallout tomorrow and into next week. But that’s one more night you and I have together, one more night without either of us worrying about a challenge or the changes a Quickening brings. I don’t know about you, but I’ll take one more night over fear and uncertainty any day.”

“Is it really that easy?” Richie asked anxiously, searching Cory’s eyes.

“Nothing worth fighting and dying over is easy,” Cory noted, “but we’ve gotten through this well so far. Talk to me, Richie. I can’t read your mind, and I’m not about to guess, either.”

“You’re so strong, Cory, and calm. I can’t be that calm about the Game. I only got this calm about my life because I have changed nothing about it in nineteen years – not my friends, not my house, not my job. Only my lovers have come and gone. You’re talking like you want as much of the future I can give.”

“Is that too much?”

Richie hesitated before blurting, “You built a reputation on not giving a damn, Cory, about anyone other than yourself. But the past few months have shown me when you love, you hold nothing back. I’ve never had anyone love me like that – like the rest of the world can fuck off.”

“It can, Richie. What matters to me is the people I love, the things I can do to improve the lives of those less fortunate, and having enough to where I don’t need to worry about food, clothing, or shelter for myself. Politics might mean you and I have to be careful about public displays of affection and where we live so we can be free to be ourselves – but beyond that, it can go hang.

“I can’t see the future. I can’t promise you we’ll always be lovers like this, and I’d be conning both of us if I did. I can, however, promise you that for as long as we both want to be, we’ll be lovers. I love you, Richie. You make me want to build a home with you.”

Richie closed his eyes briefly. “You make me want things I promised myself I couldn’t have,” he confessed, “for a million reasons that don’t matter now that you’re here. I love you, Cory. Let’s do something crazy together: beat the odds we’ll last as a couple. Might be only a few years, might be the next decade or longer, but I want us.”

Cory grinned. “You’re on.” He kissed him.

_And they lived happily ever after._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who've been reading, commenting, and kudoing as this was posted!  
> Comments welcome, even when this fic is "old."

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~Posting is random; please subscribe. I rarely don't finish what I start.~~ Comments, constructive criticism, kudos, and keyboard smashes welcome. (I can't get these guys out of my head....)


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